appeared absolutely bare. Gaining confidence at the sight, I threw the
curtain farther back, and with a bound climbed in, revolver in hand.

A scurrying sound startled me for an instant, and with a scramble I
gained my feet, prepared to face whatever was before me. Then I saw the
disappearing form of a great rat, and laughed at my fears.

The room was, as I had thought, bare and deserted. There was a musty
smell about it, as though it had not been opened for a long time, and
dust and desolation lay heavy upon it. A dark stain on the floor near
the window suggested to my fancy the idea of blood. Had some wayfarer
less fortunate than I been inveigled to his death in this evil place?

There was, however, nothing here to linger for, and I hastened to try
the door. It was locked. I stooped to examine the fastening. It was of
the cheapest kind, attached to door and casement by small screws. With
a good wrench it gave way, and I found myself in a dark side-hall
between two rooms. Three steps brought me to the main hall, and I
recognized it for the same through which I had felt my way in the
darkness of the night. It was not improved by the daylight, and a
strange loneliness about it was an oppression to the spirits. There
were six or eight rooms on the floor, and the doors glowered
threateningly on me, as though they were conscious that I was an
intruder in fear of his life.

The intense stillness within the house, instead of reassuring me,
served as a threat. After my experience of the night, it spoke of
treachery, not of peace.

I took my steps cautiously down the stairs, following the way that led