It was April and John Moore was studying for an important examination. As the date of the exam
came nearer, he decided to go somewhere and read by himself. He did not want the amusements of the
seaside, or the beauties of the countryside. He decided to find a quiet, ordinary little town and work
there undisturbed. He packed his suitcases with clothes and books. Then he looked in a railway
timetable for a town that he did not know. He found one, and bought a ticket to go there. He did not tell
anyone where he was going. After all, he did not want to be disturbed.
That is how Moore arrived at Benchurch. It was a market town, and once a week it was quite busy
for a few hours. The rest of the time it was a very quiet, sleepy little place. Moore spent his first night at
the only hotel in the town. The landlady was very kind and helpful, but the hotel was not really quiet
enough for him. The second day he started looking for a house to rent.
There was only one place that he liked. It was more than quiet − it was deserted and very lonely. It
was a big, old seventeenth−century house. It had tiny windows like a prison, and a high brick wall all
round it. It would be hard to imagine a more unwelcoming place. But it suited Moore perfectly. He went
to find the local lawyer, who was responsible for the house.
Mr Carnford, the lawyer, was very happy to rent the house to him.
`I'd be glad to let you have it free,' he said, `just to have somebody living in it again after all these
years. It's been empty so long that people have spread a lot of foolish stories about it. You'll be able to
prove that the stories are wrong.'
Moore did not think it was necessary to ask the lawyer for more details of the `foolish stories'. He
paid his rent, and Mr Carnford gave him the name of an old servant to look after him. He came away
from the lawyer's office with the keys of the house in his pocket. He then went to Mrs Wood, the
landlady of the hotel.
`I'm renting a house for a few weeks,' he said. `Can you advise me about shopping, please? What
do you think I shall need?'
`Where are you going to stay, sir?' the landlady asked. Moore told her.
She threw up her hands in horror. `Not the Judge's House!' she said, and she grew pale as she spoke.
He asked her to tell him more about the house. `Why is it called the Judge's House?' he said, `and
why doesn't anyone want to live in it?'
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