The curious events related in these pages would,many of them,most likely never have happened,if a person named Trottle had not presumed,contrary to his usual custom,to think for himself.
The subject on which the person in question had ventured,for the first time in his life,to form an opinion purely and entirely his own,was one which had already excited the interest of his respected mistress in a very extraordinary degree.Or,to put it in plainer terms still,the subject was no other than the mystery of the empty House.
Feeling no sort of objection to set a success of his own,if possible,side by side with a failure of Mr.Jarber's,Trottle made up his mind,one Monday evening,to try what he could do,on his own account,towards clearing up the mystery of the empty House.
Carefully dismissing from his mind all nonsensical notions of former tenants and their histories,and keeping the one point in view steadily before him,he started to reach it in the shortest way,by walking straight up to the House,and bringing himself face to face with the first person in it who opened the door to him.
It was getting towards dark,on Monday evening,the thirteenth of the month,when Trottle first set foot on the steps of the House.
When he knocked at the door,he knew nothing of the matter which he was about to investigate,except that the landlord was an elderly widower of good fortune,and that his name was Forley.A small beginning enough for a man to start from,certainly!
On dropping the knocker,his first proceeding was to look down cautiously out of the corner of his right eye,for any results which might show themselves at the kitchen-window.There appeared at it immediately the figure of a woman,who looked up inquisitively at the stranger on the steps,left the window in a hurry,and came back to it with an open letter in her hand,which she held up to the fading light.After looking over the letter hastily for a moment or so,the woman disappeared once more.
Trottle next heard footsteps shuffling and scraping along the bare hall of the house.On a sudden they ceased,and the sound of two voices--a shrill persuading voice and a gruff resisting voice--confusedly reached his ears.After a while,the voices left off speaking--a chain was undone,a bolt drawn back--the door opened--and Trottle stood face to face with two persons,a woman in advance,and a man behind her,leaning back flat against the wall.
"Wish you good evening,sir,"says the woman,in such a sudden way,and in such a cracked voice,that it was quite startling to hear her."Chilly weather,ain't it,sir?Please to walk in.You come from good Mr.Forley,don't you,sir?""Don't you,sir?"chimes in the man hoarsely,making a sort of gruff echo of himself,and chuckling after it,as if he thought he had made a joke.
If Trottle had said,"No,"the door would have been probably closed in his face.Therefore,he took circumstances as he found them,and boldly ran all the risk,whatever it might be,of saying,"Yes.""Quite right sir,"says the woman."Good Mr.Forley's letter told us his particular friend would be here to represent him,at dusk,on Monday the thirteenth--or,if not on Monday the thirteenth,then on Monday the twentieth,at the same time,without fail.And here you are on Monday the thirteenth,ain't you,sir?Mr.Forley's particular friend,and dressed all in black--quite right,sir!
Please to step into the dining-room--it's always kep scoured and clean against Mr.Forley comes here--and I'll fetch a candle in half a minute.It gets so dark in the evenings,now,you hardly know where you are,do you,sir?And how is good Mr.Forley in his health?We trust he is better,Benjamin,don't we?We are so sorry not to see him as usual,Benjamin,ain't we?In half a minute,sir,if you don't mind waiting,I'll be back with the candle.Come along,Benjamin.""Come along,Benjamin,"chimes in the echo,and chuckles again as if he thought he had made another joke.
Left alone in the empty front-parlour,Trottle wondered what was coming next,as he heard the shuffling,scraping footsteps go slowly down the kitchen-stairs.The front-door had been carefully chained up and bolted behind him on his entrance;and there was not the least chance of his being able to open it to effect his escape,without betraying himself by making a noise.
Not being of the Jarber sort,luckily for himself,he took his situation quietly,as he found it,and turned his time,while alone,to account,by summing up in his own mind the few particulars which he had discovered thus far.He had found out,first,that Mr.
Forley was in the habit of visiting the house regularly.Second,that Mr.Forley being prevented by illness from seeing the people put in charge as usual,had appointed a friend to represent him;and had written to say so.Third,that the friend had a choice of two Mondays,at a particular time in the evening,for doing his errand;and that Trottle had accidentally hit on this time,and on the first of the Mondays,for beginning his own investigations.Fourth,that the similarity between Trottle's black dress,as servant out of livery,and the dress of the messenger (whoever he might be),had helped the error by which Trottle was profiting.So far,so good.
But what was the messenger's errand?and what chance was there that he might not come up and knock at the door himself,from minute to minute,on that very evening?
While Trottle was turning over this last consideration in his mind,he heard the shuffling footsteps come up the stairs again,with a flash of candle-light going before them.He waited for the woman's coming in with some little anxiety;for the twilight had been too dim on his getting into the house to allow him to see either her face or the man's face at all clearly.
