I thought how I had looked out of my window and had found in the moon-bathed landscape something which had translated my ideas to that strange picture of Wiertz.  Then I had known nothing of this nebula of witchcraft which, according to popular tradition, rested upon the vicinity; yet I had pictured the night as “a curtain ’broidered with luminous eyes”—­and I could only suppose that my mind had become impressed by a picture conjured up by this focusing of local thought.  In short, the people of the neighborhood had created this atmosphere of desolation and of something more sinister, which I had observed in the very hour of my arrival at the little village.

So my thoughts ran as I proceeded back to the Abbey Inn; and as I had collected much new and valuable information, I determined to embody it in a long report to Gatton.  Furthermore, I was doubtful as to my next step, the bold move which I made later not having yet presented itself to my mind.

Twice during the evening, however, I looked into the bar-parlor, but neither “Gipsy” Hawkins nor the black servant appeared.  But when at last I turned in, I closed my windows and drew the curtains.  I desired no repetition of the dreams which had made hideous my first night at the Abbey Inn.

CHAPTER XV

I RECEIVE VISITORS

Over my breakfast, on the following morning, I began to formulate that plan which was to lead to an extraordinary discovery.  I breakfasted in my own room, and just as I had finished and was about to light my pipe, Mr. Martin, the landlord, knocked at the door.

“Come in,” I cried.

He entered, and: 

“A lady has called to see you, sir,” he announced.

The manner in which he made the statement evidenced a curious mixture of disapproval and respect.  For my own part it is perhaps unnecessary for me to say that my first thought, as always, was Isobel!  In the very moment, however, that this idea visited me (the wish being father of the thought) I recognized its folly.

“A lady,” I repeated; “but I know no one here.  Are you certain that it was for me she asked?”

“Quite, sir,” replied the landlord, who was evidently flurried out of his usual calm by what I gathered to be an episode unprecedented in his memories of the Abbey Inn.  “Mr. Addison, she asked for.  She is waiting in the coffee-room, sir.”

Wholly at a loss to understand who my visitor could be, I made my way to the little apartment at the side of the bar-parlor which Mr. Martin had dignified with the title of coffee-room.  I observed upon the bench before the door a shabby-looking fellow whom I might have taken to be some local tradesman except that he appeared to be a chance visitor and was evidently unacquainted with Martin.  He was reading a newspaper and I saw a cup of coffee set upon the bench beside him.

This was a hazy morning, which I thought betokened another hot day, and as I entered the “coffee-room” I found it to be pervaded by a curious half-light, not unlike that of summer twilight.  The glow of the sun peering redly through the mist added warmth to this soft illumination, but since the room boasted only one small window it was badly lighted even at noon.