The Haunted Hotel: A Mystery of Modern Venice

iser of Agnes Lockwood, Mr. Troy, call

rrari's disappearance, and then produced the correspondence connected with that event. Mr. Troy read (first) the three letters addressed by Ferrari to his wife; (secondly) the letter written by Ferrari's courier-

at home and abroad. He possessed a keen eye for character, a quaint humour, and a kindly nature which had not been deteriorated even by a lawyer's professional experience of mankind. With all these personal advantages, it is a question, nevertheless, whether he was the fitt

r opened the business of the evening, referring to Mrs. Fe

a terrible shock

th the interest due to the victim of a shock. He drummed abs

't really believe that

ord 'dead' was ineffectual to express her feelings.

y whom?' Mr

u have read my husband's letters, sir,' she began. 'I believe

id he d

e of a bereaved wife. This cool question irritated

ches came to my poor dear husband's knowledge. The lady's maid left her place on account of it. If Ferrari had gone away too, he would have been alive at this moment. They have killed him.

serve, Mr. Troy listened with an

eir necks. Complete the case, my good lady-complete the case. Tell us next who sent you this letter, enclosing the bank-note. The "two wretches" who murdered Mr. Ferrari would hardly put their hands in their pockets and send you a thousand

nward approaches of something like hatred towards Mr. Troy. 'I don't und

. She drew her chair a little nearer

able explanation, in y

Ferrari if I tell you

Mrs. Ferrari, hating Mr. Tro

d it out-and that the guilty persons had reason to fear, not only that he would acquaint Lord Montbarry with his discovery, but that he would be a principal witness against them if the scandal was made public in a court of law. Now mark! Admitting all this, I draw a totally different conclusion from the conclusion at which you have arrived. Here is your husband left in this miserable household of three, under very awkward circumstances for him. What does he do? But for the

enly; Mrs. Ferrari's dull drab-coloured complex

t's a burning shame to spea

ould offend you!

h reflected harshly on Ferrari. While she was still speaking, the servant interrupted her by entering the room with a visiting-card. It was the card of Henry

l kindness of heart to show itself on the surface at l

us matter as this, to tell you what is really in my mind. I can have no intention of offending you, seeing that I am a total stranger to you and to Mr. Ferrari. A thousand pounds is a large sum of money; and a poor man may excusa

Mr. Troy, had no room left for the process of correcting its first impression. 'I am much obliged to you, sir,' was all she said. Her

eled his chair around, put his hands i

silence, the drawing-

ppeared, in her place, a perfect stranger to him-a gentleman, in the prime of life, with a marked

ich has greatly distressed her,' he said. 'She has retired to her room

n the "Master Henry" of old times.' Emily, in some little confusion, made her acknowledgments, and begged to know if she could be of any use to Miss Lockwood. 'The old nurse is with her,' Henry a

Montbarry!' Mr.

g. There is the telegram.' With that startl

e was in t

el, London. It is useless to take the journey. Lord Montbarry died

cted, sir?' th

ician had been called in. He telegraphed back to say that he had left Ireland for London, on his way to Venice, and to direct that any further message might be sent to his hotel. The reply came in a second telegram. It announced that Lord Montbarry was

Troy was struck by the expression of blank

'have you heard what Mr.

ord of i

any questi

, s

he lawyer persisted. 'Is it

, sir. I have thought so all along,

ter what you ha

s,

u tell

feeling I have. I

tence unfinished, and rose to take his leave of Mr. Westwick. The truth is, he began to feel puzzled himself, and he did not choose

e door. 'I have heard of your trouble, Emily, from M

nd see if I can be of any use to Miss Agnes. I am very sorry for her.' She stole away, with her formal cu

on the work-table by its side. On the little easel near the window was her last drawing, not quite finished yet. The book she had been reading lay on the sofa, with her tiny pencil-case in it to mark the place at which she had left off. One after another, he looked at the objects that reminded him of the woman

an-doubly unwelcome to him, at that moment. 'Sad news, Westwick, this about your brother. Rather an unexpected de

hitis, certified by two physicians, was surely the least disputable of all deaths. 'I wish you hadn't put that question