CHAPTER VII
THE HOUSE AT THE GRANBY CROSS ROADS
Why Mr. Blake should take a journey at all at this time, and why of
all places in the world he should choose such an insignificant town
as Putney for his destination, was of course the mystery upon which I
brooded during the entire distance. But when somewhere near five in
the afternoon I stepped from the cars on to the platform at Putney
Station only to hear Mr. Blake making inquiries in regard to a certain
stage running between that town and a still smaller village further
east, I own I was not only surprised but well-nigh nonplussed.
Especially as he seemed greatly disappointed to hear that it only ran
once a day, and then for an earlier train in the morning.
"You will have to wait till to-morrow I fear," said the ticket agent,
"unless the landlord of the hotel down yonder, can harness you up a
team. There is a funeral out west to-day and--"
I did not wait to hear more but hurried down to the hotel he had
pointed out, and hunting up the landlord inquired if for love or
money he could get me any sort of a conveyance for Melville that
afternoon. He assured me it would be impossible, the livery stable as
well as his own being entirely empty.
"Such a thing don't happen here once in five years," said he to me.
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