Scarcely had I uttered these last words when the expression of the
old priest's face changed from one of courteous indifference to
earnest interest:

"Do I understand you rightly, monsieur?" he said. "You say you
slept last night in Steepside mansion?"

"I did not say I slept there," I rejoined, with an emphasis; "I
said I passed the night there."

"Bien," said he dryly, "I comprehend. And you were not pleased
with your night's lodging. That is so, is it not, monsieur,--is
it not?" he repeated, eying my face curiously, as though he were
seeking to read the expression of my thoughts there.

"You may be sure," said I, "that if something very peculiar had
not occurred to me in that house, I should not thus have troubled
a gentleman to whom I am, unhappily, a stranger."

He bowed slightly and then stood silent, contemplating me, and,
as I think, considering whether or not he should afford me the
information I desired. Presently, his scrutiny having apparently
proved satisfactory, he withdrew his eyes from my face, and seated
himself beside me.

"Monsieur," said he, "before I begin to answer your inquiry, I will
ask you to tell me what you saw last night at Steepside."

He drew from his pocket a small, old-fashioned snuff-box and refreshed