turned through the arched moulding that marked the entrance to the upper
hall, and at his direction opened a door. As I paused involuntarily on
the threshold, Brutus deftly slipped past, set the candle on a stand, and
bent over my saddle bags. Still chuckling to himself, he dropped my
pistols into his shirt bosom. Then his grin died away. His low forehead
became creased and puckered. He shifted his weight from one foot to the
other irresolutely, and drew a deep breath.

"Mister Henry--" he began.

"Well," I said.

"Something happen. Very bad here. You go home."

His sudden change of manner, and the shadowy, musty silence around me
threatened to shake the coolness I had attempted to assume. Unconsciously
my hand dropped to the hilt of my travelling sword. I looked across at
him through the shadows.

"You go home," said Brutus.

"Something _will_ happen, or something _has_ happened?" I asked.

But Brutus only shook his head stupidly.

"Very bad. You go home," he persisted.

"You go to the devil," I said, "and leave that candle. I won't burn down
the house."