Beyond them was the great front door of Colonial style and
workmanship, a fine specimen once, but greatly disfigured now by
the bolts and bars which had been added to it in satisfaction of
the judge's ideas of security.
Many years had passed since Judge Ostrander had played the host;
but he had not lost a sense of its obligations. It was for him to
shoot the bolts and lift the bars; but he went about it so
clumsily and with such evident aversion to the task, that the
sergeant instinctively sprang to help him.
"I shall miss Bela at every turn," remarked the judge, turning
with a sad smile as he finally pulled the door open. "This is an
unaccustomed effort for me. Excuse my awkwardness."
Something in his attitude, something in the way he lifted his hand
to push back a fallen lock from his forehead, impressed itself
upon the sergeant's mind so vividly that he always remembered the
judge as he appeared to him at that minute. Certainly there were
but few men like him in the country, and none in his own town. Of
a commanding personality by reason of his height, his features
were of a cast to express his mental attributes and enforce
attention, and the incongruity between his dominating figure and
the apprehensions which he displayed in these multiplied and
extraordinary arrangements for personal security was forcible
enough to arouse any man's interest.
The sergeant was so occupied by the mystery of the man and the
mystery of the house that they had passed the first gate (which
the judge had unlocked without much difficulty) before he realised
that there still remained something of interest for him to see and
to talk about later.
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