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Vigorously cleaning up the still bewildered victim, Mrs. Wopp hurled fresh orders. “Not a bit!” His words were strangely impatient. “I’ve got to find her!” He started past them. He was not more inquisitive than other boys, yet the mystery, the many uncanny tales told of the old house, fired him with a desire to know its secrets. Long before he was born a murder had left its stain there. The owners, suspected but unconvicted, moved away; and for years the house stared vacantly at passers. The coming of the Italians had only increased its bad name. Late travellers on the lonely road declared that shadowy forms and flickering lights passed the lower windows and down into the cavernous basement; yet no sounds ever came from behind the barred doors. “All this turnin’ is good for the liver too you know,” she continued, as her son’s vinegary expression remained unaltered..