CHAPTER EIGHT
David Martin waited while the gate-keeper called to the main house for permission to let him enter the estate, looking in awed fascination at the huge metal gate blocking the entrance. It was made of decorative wrought iron in complex patterns, each half centered by an intricately designed brass plate. On closer inspection he saw that the curling filigree work etched into the brass actually spelled out Harvey Sear's first and last initials. He was truly impressed as the gate was finally opened long enough for him to enter and begin the long, winding drive through what seemed to be a forest toward the distant shape of the mansion itself.
He had never been to a house as palatial as this one, and the dark, swarthy-skinned servant who led him through a maze of hallways and inte
