"That is more than I can say, sir; more than anybody can say, I should imagine, unless it be Miss Pengarvon herself. Miss Isabel--that is the daughter of Sir Jasper's second marriage--ah, what a sweet young lady she was!--ran away, more than twenty years ago, with a gentleman who had been stopping for a couple of months at this very hotel before he and she disappeared. There was a fine to-do, I can tell you, sir, at the time."
"And did Miss Isabel never come back?"
"Never that I heard tell of, sir. It was said that Miss Pengarvon forbade her name ever being mentioned at the Hall, and that she even went so far as to burn such of the poor young lady's clothes as she had left behind her. An old witch, sir, if ever there was one!"
The stranger seemed not to have heard the last remark, but sat with his chin on his breast, pondering silently. Presently he roused himself with a sigh, and said:
"I am much obliged to you for your information. There is nothing more I want to ask you at present."
The landlord rose.
"About dinner, sir: at what hour would you like it?"
"Eh? Oh, yes. At five sharp. Anything you can get me. I leave it to you."
A quarter of an hour later the stranger sallied forth, with closely-buttoned overcoat, buckskin gloves and silver-mounted cane. After an inquiry or two, he found himself on the road which, among other places, led to Broome. A walk of two miles and three-quarters brought him to the Park gates, thick with the rust and grime of many years, and hanging askew on their hinges. A heavy chain with a padlock attached held them against all intruders. There was, however, a narrow arched entrance in the wall hard by through which wayfarers could gain access to the park, but the original door had rotted away long ago, and its place was now filled by a rude make-shift of rough unpainted planking, the handiwork of Barney Dale. A little way within the gates stood the whilom lodge, windowless and partially roofless, its flooring and other fittings having been torn away piecemeal by tramps and vagabonds of various kinds, who had a kettle to boil, or a savory stew which would be all the better for simmering over a fire of wood ashes. Nettles and dockweed were now the sole lodge-keepers at Broome.
The stranger, as he walked through the park towards the house, did not fail to note the further signs of neglect which were everywhere visible. The carriage drive was so overgrown with grass and weeds as to be barely distinguishable; such few trees as Sir Jasper had left standing had been left unpruned and uncared for since his death; here and there a few cows were cropping the ragged grass. When a turn of the drive brought into view the front of the Hall, the stranger paused for a few moments to contemplate it. On that grey, sunless winter noon, with its rows of shuttered windows, it looked as if it might have held inside it not one dead person, but a dozen--not one grim secret only, but a score.