Then Judge Ostrander rose and in a peremptory
tone said:
"To-morrow. After you hear from me again. Make no move to-night.
Let me feel that all your energies are devoted to securing my
privacy."
The sergeant, who had sprung to his feet at the same instant as
the judge, cast a last look about him, curiosity burning in his
heart and a sort of desperate desire to get all he could out of
his present opportunity. For he felt absolutely sure that he would
never be allowed to enter this room again.
But the arrangement of light was such as to hold in shadow all but
the central portion of the room; and this central portion held
nothing out of the common--nothing to explain the mysteries of the
dwelling or the apprehensions of its suspicious owner. With a
sigh, the sergeant dropped his eyes from the walls he could barely
distinguish, and following Judge Ostrander's lead, passed with him
under the torn folds of the curtain and through the narrow
vestibule whose door was made of iron, into the room, where, in a
stronger blaze of light than they had left, lay the body of the
dead negro awaiting the last rites.
Would the judge pass this body, or turn away from it towards a
door leading front? The sergeant had come in at the rear, but he
greatly desired to go out front, as this would give him so much
additional knowledge of the house. Unexpectedly to himself, the
judge's intentions were in the direction of his own wishes. He was
led front; and, entering an old-fashioned hall dimly lighted,
passed a staircase and two closed doors, both of which gave him
the impression of having been shut upon a past it had pleasured no
one to revive in many years.
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