Three FIVE AND TWENTY PAST FIVE
Two and a half hours later, just before eight o’clock, Major Burnaby, hur-ricane lantern in hand, his head dropped forward so as not to meet theblinding drive of snow, stumbled up the path to the door of “Hazelmoor,”
the small house tenanted by Captain Trevelyan.
The snow had begun to fall about an hour ago—great blinding flakes¹ ofit. Major Burnaby was gasping², emitting the loud sighing gasps³ of an ut-terly exhausted⁴ man. He was numbed⁵ with cold. He stamped his feet,blew, puffed⁶, snorted and applied⁷ a numbed finger to the bell push.
The bell trilled shrilly⁸.
Burnaby waited. After a pause of a few minutes, as nothing happened,he pushed the bell again.
Once more there was no stir of life.
Burnaby rang a third time. This time he kept his finger on the bell.
It trilled on and on—but there was still no sign of life in the house.
There was a knocker on the door. Major Burnaby seized it and worked itvigorously, producing a noise like thunder.
And still the little house remained silent as the dead.
The Major desisted. He stood for a moment as though perplexed—thenhe slowly went down the path and out at the gate, continuing on the roadhe had come towards Exhampton. A hundred yards brought him to thesmall police station.
He hesitated again, then finally made up his mind and entered.
Constable⁹ Graves, who knew the Major well, rose in astonishment¹⁰.
“Well, I never, sir, fancy you being out on a night like this.”

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