A Master of Mysteries | Page 6

Remember, this ain't a proper inn at all. Once it was a mill, but that was
afore Bindloss's day and mine. Gents would come in the summer and
put up for the fishing, but then the story of the ghost got abroad, and
lately we have no visitors to speak of, only an odd one now and then
who ain't wanted--no, he ain't wanted. You see, there was three deaths
here. Yes"--she held up one of her skinny hands and began to count on
her fingers--"yes, three up to the present; three, that's it. Ah, here comes
Bindloss."
A shuffling step was heard in the passage, and an old man, bent with
age, and wearing a long white beard, entered the room.
"We has no beds for strangers," he said, speaking in an aggressive and
loud tone. "Hasn't the wife said so? We don't let out beds here."
"As that is the case, you have no right to have that signpost at the end

of the lane," I retorted. "I am not in a mood to walk eight miles for a
shelter in a country I know nothing about. Cannot you put me up
somehow?"
"I have told the gentleman everything, Sam," said the wife. "He is just
for all the world like young Mr. Wentworth, and not a bit frightened."
The old landlord came up and faced me.
"Look you here," he said, "you stay on at your peril. I don't want you,
nor do the wife. Now is it 'yes' or 'no'?"
"It is 'yes,'" I said.
"There's only one room you can sleep in."
"One room is sufficient."
"It's the one Mr. Wentworth died in. Hadn't you best take up your traps
and be off?"
"No, I shall stay."
"Then there's no more to be said."
"Run, Liz," said the woman, "and light the fire in the parlour."
The girl left the room, and the woman, taking up a candle, said she
would take me to the chamber where I was to sleep. She led me down a
long and narrow passage, and then, opening a door, down two steps
into the most extraordinary-looking room I had ever seen. The walls
were completely circular, covered with a paper of a staring grotesque
pattern. A small iron bedstead projected into the middle of the floor,
which was uncarpeted except for a slip of matting beside it. A cheap
deal wash-hand-stand, a couple of chairs, and a small table with a
blurred looking-glass stood against the wall beneath a deep embrasure,
in which there was a window. This was evidently a room in one of the
circular towers. I had never seen less inviting quarters.

"Your supper will be ready directly, sir," said the woman, and placing
the candle on the little table, she left me.
The place felt damp and draughty, and the flame of the candle flickered
about, causing the tallow to gutter to one side. There was no fireplace
in the room, and above, the walls converged to a point, giving the
whole place the appearance of an enormous extinguisher. I made a
hurried and necessarily limited toilet, and went into the parlour. I was
standing by the fire, which was burning badly, when the door opened,
and the girl Liz came in, bearing a tray in her hand. She laid the tray on
the table and came up softly to me.
"Fools come to this house," she said, "and you are one."
"Pray let me have my supper, and don't talk," I replied. "I am tired and
hungry, and want to go to bed."
Liz stood perfectly still for a moment.
"'Tain't worth it," she said; then, in a meditative voice, "no, 'tain't worth
it. But I'll say no more. Folks will never be warned!"
Her grandmother's voice calling her caused her to bound from the
room.
My supper proved better than I had expected, and, having finished it, I
strolled into the kitchen, anxious to have a further talk with the old man.
He was seated alone by the fire, a great mastiff lying at his feet.
"Can you tell me why the house is supposed to be haunted?" I asked
suddenly, stooping down to speak to him.
"How should I know?" he cried hoarsely. "The wife and me have been
here twenty years, and never seen nor heard anything, but for certain
folks do die in the house. It's mortal unpleasant for me, for the doctors
come along, and the coroner, and there's an inquest and no end of fuss.
The folks die, although no one has ever laid a finger on 'em; the doctors
can't prove why they are dead, but dead they be. Well, there ain't no use

saying more. You are here, and maybe you'll pass the one night all
right."
"I shall