“I was expecting you,” said the harsh voice composedly. “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” I returned gravely, swallowing my amazement as best I could.
By the table before me sat Mother Borton, contemplating me as calmly as though this meeting were the most commonplace thing in the world. A candle furnished a dim, flickering light that gave to her hard wicked countenance a diabolic leer that struck a chill to my blood.
“Excuse me,” I said, “I have lost my way, I fear.”
“Not at all,” said Mother Borton. “You are in the right place.”
“I was afraid I had intruded,” I said apologetically.
“I expected you,” she repeated. “Shut the door.”
I glanced about the room. There was no sign of another person to be seen, and no other door. I obeyed her.
“You might as well sit down,” she said with some petulance. “There's nothing up here to hurt you.” There was so much meaning in her tone of the things that would hurt me on the floor below that I hastened to show my confidence in her, and drew up a chair to the table.
“At your service,” I said, leaning before her with as much an appearance of jaunty self-possession as I could muster.