"You may register me as Allan Dorris," he said at last, getting up from his chair, and looking confused, "from Nowhere-in-Particular. It is not important where I am from, so long as I am responsible; and I will convince your proprietor of that in the morning. You will oblige me if you will step over to the quarters of the old lady you spoke of, and inform her that there is a new master at The Locks, and that he has taken possession. When you return I will show you out."
"I neglected to mention," Silas says, after making a note of what the stranger has said on an envelope, "that you can open and close the gate from this room, and lock and unlock it. There is also a speaking-tube leading from this room, whereby you can converse with persons on the outside. I will call you up when I go out. It is located here, behind the door."
The two men step over to examine it, and Tug creeps in to look too, and after sighting at it awhile returns to the hall.
The apparatus consists of an iron lever, with a show of chains running over pulleys and disappearing through the floor, and a speaking-tube. Silas explains that when the lever is up the gate is open, and when it is down the gate is shut and locked. Both men try it, and conclude that, with a little oil, it will work very well, leaving it open so that the men may pass out.
There being no further excuse for remaining, Silas and his ugly friend start down the stairs, the stranger holding the light at the top; and after they have passed out of the door and slammed it to work the spring lock, and tried it to see that it is locked, Allan Dorris returns to the room they have just left.
The grate in the room is filled with wood, and there is kindling at the bottom, probably put there years before, judging by the dust; and the stranger lights this, intending to dry his wet clothing. While about it there is a whistle from the speaking-tube, and going over to it and replying, a sepulchral voice comes to him from somewhere to the effect that Mrs. Wedge, the housekeeper, is delighted to hear that the house is to be occupied at last; that she will call upon the new master in the morning to pay her respects, as well as to make her arrangements for the future; and, good night.
The stranger says good night in return, pulls the lever down, which closes and locks the gate, and returns to the fire, which is burning brightly by this time.
"Allan Dorris, from Nowhere-in-Particular," he mutters after he is seated, and while watching his steaming garments. There is an amused look on his face at first, as he repeats the name, but a frown soon takes its place, that grows blacker as he crouches down into his chair, and looks at the fire.
At length he seems to tire of his thoughts, for he gets up and walks the floor, pausing occasionally to look curiously at the pictures on the walls, or at the carpet, or at the furniture. If he returns to his chair, the frown appears on his face again, and once more he walks to get rid of his thoughts.
This is continued so long that the darkness finally gets tired of looking in at the windows, and hurries away at the approach of day. From time to time, as the light increases, he steps to the window and looks out; and when walking away, after a long look at Davy's Bend through the morning mist, he mutters:—