"What an old drum of a place it is!" he cried; "we'll strike a
light, Roddy, and see where we are."

He had brought a candle and a tinder-box in his pocket. When the
flame burned up, we saw an arched stone roof above our heads, and
broad deal shelves all round us covered with dusty dishes. It was
the pantry.

"I'll show you round," said Jim, merrily; and, pushing the door
open, he led the way into the hall. I remember the high, oak-
panelled walls, with the heads of deer jutting out, and a single
white bust, which sent my heart into my mouth, in the corner. Many
rooms opened out of this, and we wandered from one to the other--the
kitchens, the still-room, the morning-room, the dining-room, all
filled with the same choking smell of dust and of mildew.

"This is where they played the cards, Jim," said I, in a hushed
voice. "It was on that very table."

"Why, here are the cards themselves!" cried he; and he pulled a
brown towel from something in the centre of the sideboard. Sure
enough it was a pile of playing-cards--forty packs, I should think,
at the least--which had lain there ever since that tragic game which
was played before I was born.

"I wonder whence that stair leads?" said Jim.

"Don't go up there, Jim!" I cried, clutching at his arm. "That must
lead to the room of the murder."