Mine host said nothing; and Rodriguez, who seldom concerned
himself with the past, holding that the future is all we can order
the scheme of (and maybe even here he was wrong), made no mention
of bolts or door and merely demanded a bed for himself for the
night.

Mine host rubbed his chin; he had neither beard nor moustache but
wore hideous whiskers; he rubbed it thoughtfully and looked at
Rodriguez. Yes, he said, he could have a bed for the night. No
more words he said, but turned and led the way; while Rodriguez,
who could sing to the mandolin, wasted none of his words on this
discourteous object. They ascended the short oak stairway down
which mine host had come, the great timbers of which were gnawed
by a myriad rats, and they went by passages with the light of one
candle into the interior of the inn, which went back farther from
the street than the young man had supposed; indeed he perceived
when they came to the great corridor at the end of which was his
appointed chamber, that here was no ordinary inn, as it had
appeared from outside, but that it penetrated into the fastness of
some great family of former times which had fallen on evil days.
The vast size of it, the noble design where the rats had spared
the carving, what the moths had left of the tapestries, all
testified to that; and, as for the evil days, they hung about the
place, evident even by the light of one candle guttering with
every draught that blew from the haunts of the rats, an
inseparable heirloom for all who disturbed those corridors.

And so they came to the chamber.

Mine host entered, bowed without grace in the doorway, and