re, sir," replied the man; "and although we don't
often have company to stay in the inn, now and then we have a stray
artist. It's not three weeks back," he continued, "that we had a
gentleman like you, sir, only a bit younger, to stay with us for a week
or two. He was an artist, and drew from morning till night--ah, poor
fellow!"

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"I have good cause, sir. Here, wife," continued the landlord, looking
over his shoulder at Mrs. Johnson, the landlady, who now appeared on the
scene, "this gentleman has been asking me questions about our visitor,
Mr. Wentworth, but perhaps we ought not to inflict such a dismal story
upon him to-night."

"Pray do," I said; "what you have already hinted at arouses my
curiosity. Why should you pity Mr. Wentworth?"

"He is dead, sir," said the landlady, in a solemn voice. I gave a
pretended start, and she continued,--

"And it was all his own fault. Ah, dear! it makes me almost cry to think
of it. He was as nice a gentleman as I ever set eyes on, and so strong,
hearty, and pleasant. Well, sir, everything went well until one day he
said to me, 'I am about to leave you, Mrs. Johnson. I am going to a
little place called the Castle Inn, further up the Merran.'

"'The Castle Inn!' I cried. 'No, Mr. Wentworth, that you won't, not if
you value your life.'

"'And why not?' he said, looking at me with as merry blue eyes as you
ever saw in anybody's head. 'Why should I not visit the Castle Inn? I
have a commission to make some drawings of that special bend of the
river.'

"'Well, then, sir,' I answered, 'if that is the case, you'll just have a
horse and trap from here and drive over as often as you want to. For the
Castle Inn ain't a fit place for a Christian to put up at.'

"'What do you mean?' he asked of me.

"'It is said to be haunted, sir, and what does happen in that house the
Lord only knows, but there's not been a visitor at the inn for some
years, not since Bailiff Holt came by his death.'

"'Came by his death?' he asked. 'And how was that?'

"'God knows, but I don't,' I answered. 'At the coroner's inquest it was
said that he died from syncope, whatever that means, but the folks round
here said it was fright.' Mr. Wentworth just laughed at me. He didn't
mind a word I said, and the next day, sir, he was off, carrying his
belongings with him."

"Well, and what happened?" I asked, seeing that she paused.

"What happened, sir? Just what I expected. T