"I wonder you took up the house at all," said I. "You won't make your fortune in this locality."
The landlord made no reply, but muttering something about supper left the room. His daughter had already departed, presumably in the direction of the kitchen, and I found myself alone with Francis Briarfield. He was absently looking out at the window, and started when I addressed him directly. I augured mystery therefrom.
"What's the meaning of these mysteries?" I asked abruptly. The horror of the place was already influencing my spirits.
"What mysteries?" demanded Briarfield, in a listless manner.
"This inn has been uninhabited for some considerable period. A suspicious looking rascal and his pretty daughter have taken up their abode here with no possible chance of getting customers. I stumble on this Castle Grim in the twilight and find you here--you of all men, whom I believed to be in South America. Don't you call these mysteries?"
"If you put it that way I admit the mysteries," replied Francis, coming toward the fire. "I know little about the inn--still less about the landlord and his daughter. As to myself--I am here by appointment to meet my brother Felix. Came from London to Starby, and rode from thence to this inn."
"Why meet him in this murderous looking house?"
"He named the place of meeting himself."
"And you?"
"I only arrived this month in England from South America. I wrote him from London asking to see him. He appointed this inn as neutral ground for us to meet, so here I am."