“The door was opened by a butler, who had the air of being an old, confidential servant. I asked to see the person who was dying.
“The man looked at me in amazement. ‘No one is even ill here; much less dying. You must have the wrong address.’
“I looked around for my mysterious guide. I was alone.
“‘But,’ said I to the butler, ‘I assure you that a lady came to me this evening, asked me to follow her to a house where a man must die this night, and led me here. Are you certain there is no one ill?’
“‘Not only my master, but all the servants are perfectly well,’ was the reply.
“Just then a door opened and the master of the house appeared: a young, florid man, easy and good-natured, with a certain air of distinction about him. I introduced myself and repeated my story.
“‘Well, come in out of the rain now, at any rate,’ said he. ‘I am just sitting down to dinner. You will not refuse to join me?’
“I accepted the invitation and found my host bright, well-read, well-travelled: a most agreeable companion.
“As we were smoking after the meal, he said, hesitatingly:—