"I should not be in danger if I went into the village, then?" I asked.
"Go into the village," he repeated. "There are lodgings there, simple perhaps, but clean, which would suit you just as well as this."
"No," I replied, "no place will suit me quite as well as this."
"Then your blood be upon your own head; I am sorry. I like you; I watched you directly after you came here. I discovered all that there was to be known about you. Leave the place, man, and give it out that it is haunted."
"Do you realize," I said, "that you have put yourself in danger, too? I do not mean from those enemies who are unknown to me, but from other sources. I happen to know three magistrates in this district. If I were to tell them what you have told me to-night, I could have you arrested as a dangerous character. I have a servant, too, who is in a room close by. Possibly he has heard every word which has passed between us."
"No, Mr. Erskine," he said, "there is not the slightest danger of that. Your servant is asleep. Bah, do you think I don't know? Do you think I am such a fool as that? As for telling the magistrates, you could not do it."
"Because you are you. Do you think I did not estimate the kind of man I am speaking to before I said what I have said? But I am sorry. I must be going now."
He put on his heavy ulster as he spoke, buttoned it closely round his throat, and pulled his broad-brimmed hat over his forehead.
"If you discover anything," he said,--"I am saying this as an off chance, ay, a chance in a million,--leave this place as soon as you have discovered it, and send a telegram to me."
"Send it to John Adams, Chigwheal Post Office."
"And you will tell me nothing more than that?"
As he spoke I heard a sound outside, something like the cry of a sea-bird; it was a human voice.
"Good-night," he said, holding out his hand. "I am truly sorry, but I have done my best."
I unlocked the door, and he passed out into the darkness. I listened intently, and heard the rustling of the bushes. A minute later, there was a murmur of voices, and I knew that Fever Lurgy was near.
After having closed the door and carefully locked it, I sat for a long time thinking.
Part of the little success I had had in the law was owing to a remarkably retentive memory. I have sometimes thought that my memory is peculiar to myself. I do not quite know how to describe it. I have listened to a conversation which has interested me, and I have listened to evidence in court which has been of importance, and for three or four days I have remembered it in its minutest detail, and could repeat it word for word. At the end of three or four days, however, the details have passed from me completely, although I have retained the broad outlines of what I have heard. Now as I sat, the conversation which had taken place, every word, every look, every gesture of old Father Abraham was clear before my mind.