A Master of Mysteries | Page 3

have thought tourists
would have thronged to it. It is at least an ideal place for
photographers."
"You are right there, sir," replied the man; "and although we don't often

have company to stay in the inn, now and then we have a stray artist.
It's not three weeks back," he continued, "that we had a gentleman like
you, sir, only a bit younger, to stay with us for a week or two. He was
an artist, and drew from morning till night--ah, poor fellow!"
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"I have good cause, sir. Here, wife," continued the landlord, looking
over his shoulder at Mrs. Johnson, the landlady, who now appeared on
the scene, "this gentleman has been asking me questions about our
visitor, Mr. Wentworth, but perhaps we ought not to inflict such a
dismal story upon him to-night."
"Pray do," I said; "what you have already hinted at arouses my
curiosity. Why should you pity Mr. Wentworth?"
"He is dead, sir," said the landlady, in a solemn voice. I gave a
pretended start, and she continued,--
"And it was all his own fault. Ah, dear! it makes me almost cry to think
of it. He was as nice a gentleman as I ever set eyes on, and so strong,
hearty, and pleasant. Well, sir, everything went well until one day he
said to me, 'I am about to leave you, Mrs. Johnson. I am going to a little
place called the Castle Inn, further up the Merran.'
"'The Castle Inn!' I cried. 'No, Mr. Wentworth, that you won't, not if
you value your life.'
"'And why not?' he said, looking at me with as merry blue eyes as you
ever saw in anybody's head. 'Why should I not visit the Castle Inn? I
have a commission to make some drawings of that special bend of the
river.'
"'Well, then, sir,' I answered, 'if that is the case, you'll just have a horse
and trap from here and drive over as often as you want to. For the
Castle Inn ain't a fit place for a Christian to put up at.'
"'What do you mean?' he asked of me.

"'It is said to be haunted, sir, and what does happen in that house the
Lord only knows, but there's not been a visitor at the inn for some years,
not since Bailiff Holt came by his death.'
"'Came by his death?' he asked. 'And how was that?'
"'God knows, but I don't,' I answered. 'At the coroner's inquest it was
said that he died from syncope, whatever that means, but the folks
round here said it was fright.' Mr. Wentworth just laughed at me. He
didn't mind a word I said, and the next day, sir, he was off, carrying his
belongings with him."
"Well, and what happened?" I asked, seeing that she paused.
"What happened, sir? Just what I expected. Two days afterwards came
the news of his death. Poor young gentleman! He died in the very room
where Holt had breathed his last; and, oh, if there wasn't a fuss and
to-do, for it turned out that, although he seemed quite poor to us, with
little or no money, he was no end of a swell, and had rich relations, and
big estates coming to him; and, of course, there was a coroner's inquest
and all the rest, and great doctors came down from London, and our Dr.
Stanmore, who lives down the street, was sent for, and though they did
all they could, and examined him, as it were, with a microscope, they
could find no cause for death, and so they give it out that it was
syncope, just as they did in the case of poor Holt. But, sir, it wasn't; it
was fright, sheer fright. The place is haunted. It's a mysterious, dreadful
house, and I only hope you won't have nothing to do with it."
She added a few more words and presently left us.
"That's a strange story," I said, turning to Johnson; "your wife has
excited my curiosity. I should much like to get further particulars."
"There don't seem to be anything more to tell, sir," replied Johnson.
"It's true what the wife says, that the Castle Inn has a bad name. It's not
the first, no, nor the second, death that has occurred there."
"You mentioned your village doctor; do you think he could enlighten

me on the subject?"
"I am sure he would do his best, sir. He lives only six doors away, in a
red house. Maybe you wouldn't mind stepping down the street and
speaking to him?"
"You are sure he would not think it a liberty?"
"Not he, sir; he'll be only too pleased to exchange a word with some
one outside this sleepy little