I looked at him closely.
“I don’t know you,” I said.
“Nor I you; but I knew you would come.”
“You are ill and need help?” I asked.
“No,” he replied in his strange monotone. “But on this day some one always visits here. None has ever returned. But I have yet to be alone on the night of this anniversary.”
There was something so weird in the way he looked at me out of those big, watery eyes that I involuntarily shuddered.
“What anniversary?” I asked.
“The murder of my father,” he answered. “It happened many years ago. A strange man came to this cabin just as you have done.”
He paused. I said nothing.
“You wish to stay all night?” he asked.