There was an eerie silence inside the house，as
though something terrible had happened there．
Helen Tempest，feeling the goose pimples rise
on her arms，rubbed them vigorously with her
nanos and st00cl hugging nerselt． The silence was broken by the two children
who suddenly rushed indoors from their
inspection of the garden．They were followed
by their father．a broad smile on his face．
‘Like it?’he asked Helen．．
‘WreU there’S nothing actually wrong．．．’
Bringing up the rear of the procession，which
had trooped in from the garden．the estate
agent carefully closed the front door．
‘There’S nothing wrong with it at a11．Mrs
Tempest．It’S in excellent condition．The
previ’ous owners，the Beckets， were
professional people．’
While he was enumerating the many
accomplishments，professional and personal，of
the former owners，Helen continued to rub her
hands up and down her arms puzzled and
disturbed about her reaction to a perfectly
ordinary detached house some thirty years old。
It formed part of an estate built on top of a
hill not far from the 5 Dorset village of Tip
Hollow．
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