The road on which the house
was built ran away on the left to the mist-shrouded horizon
without another building of any kind in sight. Desmond surmised
that Morstead Fen lay in the direction in which he was looking.
To the right, Desmond caught a glimpse of a ghostly spire
sticking out of some trees and guessed that this was Wentfield
Church. In front of him the distant roar of a passing train
showed where the Great Eastern Railway line lay.
More depressed than ever by the utter desolation of the scene,
Desmond turned to retrace his steps to the house. Noticing a path
traversing the kitchen garden, he followed it. It led to the back
of the house, to the door of a kind of lean-to shed. The latch
yielded on being pressed and Desmond entered the place.
He found himself in a fair-sized shed, very well and solidly
built of pitch-pine, with a glazed window looking out on the
garden, a table and a couple of chairs, and a large cupboard
which occupied the whole of one side of the wall of the house
against which the shed was built. In a corner of the shed stood a
very good-looking Douglas motor-cycle, and on a nail ,on the wall
hung a set of motor-cyclist's overalls. A few petrol cans, some
full, some empty, stood against the wall.
Desmond examined the machine.
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