The House in the Mist | Page 7

I smiled as I stepped
forward. The lawyer did not return that smile.
"What is your name?" he asked shortly and sharply, as if he distrusted
me.
"Hugh Austin," was my quiet reply.
"There is no such name on the list," snapped old Smead, with an
authoritative gesture toward those who seemed anxious to enter a
protest.

"Probably not," I returned, "for I am neither a Witherspoon, a
Westonhaugh nor a Clapsaddle. I am merely a chance wayfarer passing
through the town on my way west. I thought this house was a tavern, or
at least a place I could lodge in. The man I met in the doorway told me
as much, and so I am here. If my company is not agreeable, or if you
wish this room to yourselves, let me go into the kitchen. I promise not
to meddle with the supper, hungry as I am. Or perhaps you wish me to
join the crowd outside; it seems to be increasing."
"No, no," came from all parts of the room. "Don't let the door be
opened. Nothing could keep Lemuel and his crowd out if they once got
foot over the threshold."
The lawyer rubbed his chin. He seemed to be in some sort of quandary.
First he scrutinized me from under his shaggy brows with a sharp
gleam of suspicion; then his features softened and, with a side glance at
the young woman who called herself Eunice, (perhaps, because she was
worth looking at, perhaps because she had partly risen at my words), he
slipped toward a door I had before observed in the wainscoting on the
left of the mantelpiece, and softly opened it upon what looked like a
narrow staircase.
"We can not let you go out," said he; "and we can not let you have a
finger in our viands before the hour comes for serving them; so if you
will be so good as to follow this staircase to the top, you will find it
ends in a room comfortable enough for the wayfarer you call yourself.
In that room you can rest till the way is clear for you to continue your
travels. Better, we can not do for you. This house is not a tavern, but
the somewhat valuable property of--" He turned with a bow and smile,
as every one there drew a deep breath; but no one ventured to end that
sentence.
I would have given all my future prospects (which, by the way, were
not very great) to remain in that room. The oddity of the situation; the
mystery of the occurrence; the suspense I saw in every face; the
eagerness of the cries I heard redoubled from time to time outside; the
malevolence but poorly disguised in the old lawyer's countenance; and,
above all, the presence of that noble-looking woman, which was the

one off-set to the general tone of villainy with which the room was
charged, filled me with curiosity, if I might call it by no other name,
that made my acquiescence in the demand thus made upon me
positively heroic. But there seemed no other course for me to follow,
and with a last lingering glance at the genial fire and a quick look about
me, which happily encountered hers, I stooped my head to suit the low
and narrow doorway opened for my accommodation, and instantly
found myself in darkness. The door had been immediately closed by
the lawyer's impatient hand.

II
WITH MY EAR TO THE WAINSCOTING
No move more unwise could have been made by the old lawyer,--that is,
if his intention had been to rid himself of an unwelcome witness. For,
finding myself thrust thus suddenly from the scene, I naturally stood
still instead of mounting the stairs, and, by standing still, discovered
that though shut from sight I was not from sound. Distinctly through
the panel of the door, which was much thinner, no doubt, than the old
fox imagined, I heard one of the men present shout out:
"Well, that makes the number less by one!"
The murmur which followed this remark came plainly to my ears, and,
greatly rejoicing over what I considered my good luck, I settled myself
on the lowest step of the stairs in the hope of catching some word
which would reveal to me the mystery of this scene.
It was not long in coming. Old Smead had now his audience before him
in good shape, and his next words were of a character to make evident
the purpose of this meeting.
"Heirs of Anthony Westonhaugh, deceased," he began in a sing-song
voice strangely unmusical, "I congratulate you upon your good fortune
at being at this especial moment on the inner rather than outer side of
your amiable relative's front door. His