CHAPTER TWELVEA Garden Not So Lovesome
Scandinavian accents issued from the servants’ sitting-room of the passage on the left, but no servant was in sight. The procession—Windorp, Gamadge, and Percy, the latter struggling into a coat too small for him—passed the kitchen door and the pantry service window, and through the back door of the house into wet darkness. “Beaver?” called Windorp.
A torch flashed in their faces. Beaver’s huge bulk, towering behind it, stood solid for a moment and then moved aside.
“Take us down to that walled garden,” said Windorp. The torch lighted slippery bricks, and guided the party down an inclined walk which ran straight for twenty yards and then forked to the left. This bypath led them between great yew hedges, dripping wet. Except for the steady gleam of
