"Is the Baron within?" I asked.
"Wal, he b'ain't up yet, zur," replied the youth.
"Oh, never mind," I said, "I will wait, and as soon as he is up tell him a gentleman is waiting to see him."
"Very well, zur."
"Would you like to wait here in the parlour, sir?" said the buxom landlady, who had overheard our dialogue. "The Baron can't be long; he is generally up by this time, or if you will follow me, sir, I will knock at his door, and you can wait in his sitting-room till he comes out."
"Thank you," I said, as I followed the landlady upstairs, and was led into the sitting-room. The landlady knocked at the Baron's door. No answer.
"Don't awake him, pray," said I, "if he's asleep."
"Oh, but the Baron told me to call him early, sir."
She knocked again. Again no answer. The landlady paused a few moments to listen if he was getting up, then tapped again louder, louder still, but all was silent. The hostess ventured to open the door ajar. The Baron was in bed. She entered the room. A pause, a slight scream, and the landlady came running out to me, pale and terrified.
"Oh, sir," she said, in a faint voice, "the Baron—the Baron—is—dead!"