Finding that his companions were of no help, Stephen did what he always did under such circumstances; he took the whole charge of the journey upon himself. He instructed the coachman to take one road, while he took another. “If I have success, I will come and find you, or send a messenger. If you have success, deliver your charge and do not worry about me.”

Stephen rode along, looking doubtfully at all the lanes and tracks he came to. Once he met with another lone rider and asked for directions, but the man proved to be a stranger to the moor like himself and had never heard of the place Stephen mentioned.

He came at last to a narrow lane that wound between two walls, built – as is the custom in that part of England – of dry stones without any mortar. He turned down the lane. On either hand a row of bare winter trees followed the line of the walls. As the first flakes of snow floated down he crossed a narrow packhorse bridge and entered a village of dour stone cottages and tumbledown walls. It was very quiet. There was scarcely more than a handful of buildings and he quickly found the one he sought. It was a long, low hall with a paved courtyard in front of it. He surveyed the low roofs, the old-fashioned casements and the moss-covered stones with an air of the deepest dissatisfaction. “Halloo!” he called. “Is there any one there?”

The snow began to fall thicker and faster. From somewhere at the side of the house two manservants came running. They were neatly and cleanly dressed, but their nervous expressions and clumsy air made Stephen wince, and wish that he had had the training of them.

For their part they stared to see a black man upon a milk-white mare in their yard. The braver of the two bobbed a sort of half-bow.

“Is this Starecross Hall?” asked Stephen.

“Yes, sir,” said the courageous servant.

“I am here on business for Sir Walter Pole. Go and fetch your master.”

The man ran off. A moment later the front door opened and a thin, dark person appeared.

“You are the madhouse-keeper?” inquired Stephen. “You are John Segundus?”

“Yes, indeed!” cried Mr Segundus. “Welcome! Welcome!”

Stephen dismounted and threw the reins to the servant. “This place is the very devil to find! We have been driving about this infernal moor for an hour. Can you send a man to bring her ladyship’s carriage here? They took the road to the left of this one at the crossroads two miles back.”

“Of course. At once,” Mr Segundus assured him. “I am sorry you have had difficulties. The house is, as you see, extremely secluded, but that is one of the reasons that it suits Sir Walter. His lady is well, I hope?”

“Her ladyship is very much fatigued by the journey.”