As we trudged back to the lower halls, defeated but none the less
impressed by our failure to devastate our stronghold, I was struck by
the awful barrenness of the surroundings. There suddenly came over me
the shocking realisation: the "contents" of the castle, as set forth
rather vaguely in the bill of sale, were not what I had been led to
consider them. It had not occurred to me at the time of the transaction
to insist upon an inventory, and I had been too busy since the beginning
of my tenancy to take more than a passing account of my belongings.
In excusing myself for this rather careless oversight, I can only say
that during daylight hours the castle was so completely stuffed with
workmen and their queer utensils that I couldn't do much in the way
of elimination, and by night it was so horribly black and lonesome
about the place and the halls were so littered with tools and mops and
timber that it was extremely hazardous to go prowling about, so I
preferred to remain in my own quarters, which were quite comfortable
and cosy in spite of the distance between points of convenience.

Still I was vaguely certain that many articles I had seen about the
halls on my first and second visits were no longer in evidence. Two
or three antique rugs, for instance, were missing from the main hall,
and there was a lamentable suggestion of emptiness at the lower end
where we had stacked a quantity of rare old furniture in order to make
room for the workmen.

"Herr Schmick," said I, abruptly halting my party in the centre of the
hall, "what has become of the rugs that were here last week, and where
is that pile of furniture we had back yonder?"

Rudolph allowed the lantern to swing behind his huge legs, intentionally