“‘Yes,’ says I.
“‘A party’s been asking about you,’ says he.
“‘One of Campe’s people, I suppose.’
“‘No,’ says he. ‘I know all them. The party was a stranger.’
“I thought this a little queer, but I had my getting out to Campe’s place to think of; and as it was late and very dark, I said nothing more except to ask my way.
“‘Take the road down to the river,’ says the station man. ‘Then cross the bridge and turn to your right. You’ll see a lot of lights that look as if they were hanging away up in the air. That’s the castle.’
“So, bag in hand, I started off. It was a starry night; but there was no moon and starlight isn’t much good on a road where the tree branches meet on either side. But I was in the right direction and in a little while I made out the outlines of the covered bridge.
“‘Like a Noah’s Ark,’ says I, as I started across. Footsteps inside covered bridges on a still, dark night are apt to stir up a lot of other sounds; so when I began to hear a kind of shuffling alongside of me, I wasn’t surprised. ‘An echo,’ says I, and didn’t even turn.
“But when an electric hand torch shot a little tunnel of light through the darkness and hit me in the ear, I came about, quick enough.
“‘I ask your pardon,’ says a smooth kind of a voice.