Explore "Stolen Idols" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Once more five men, from a safe distance behind the muslin curtains, watched the approach towards the village inn of the tenant of the Great House. This time, however, conditions were different. The strip of road lay clean and hard in the grip of a four days' frost. There were little pools of ice near the pavement, the trees, leafless and stark, stood motionless against the clear sky. Although it was early in the afternoon the sun was already sinking beneath a bank of ominous-looking clouds. Mr. Johnson, in thick tweeds and leggings, with a powdering of snow upon his coat, carrying a gun over one shoulder and a cartridge bag suspended from the other, made his appearance coming along the lane from the Hall.
"He do be a changed man, that, for sure," Mr. Pank observed.