Goodbye.”

She looked at me, smiled, and took off her glove.

“Yes, you may kiss my hand.”

 

We were sitting on the train, continuing our journey. At one point Maloney asked if I would put a package in my suitcase, as it was too large for his. Nothing else of note occurred on the way.

Soon we were winding in and out among the mountains of North Wales. There was a change of train, after which the landscape became even more picturesque, and by the time we reached Corwen it was distinctly rugged. Osborne was waiting for us, and after a brief exchange of greetings we set off again.

The road ran through a narrow valley between precipitous mountains. Osborne slowed down.

“The track on the left leads directly up to the old family seat, Pendragon Castle. As you can see, the surface has been rather neglected. Only tourists use it now; the peasants avoid these parts. They’re still worried about old Asaph, the sixth Earl. That was where he practised his black arts.”

The valley widened out, and we could now see the ruins of the castle, high on the mountain peak, perched on the barren edge of the cliff and looking for all the world as if it had grown out of the rock itself. Huge, black birds circled round the derelict Norman tower. Maloney expressed exactly what I was feeling when he remarked:

“It must have been damned uncomfortable, living up there.”

After that, the landscape became rather more friendly. In no time at all we passed through the village of Llanvygan and caught sight of the opulent iron railings of the park. A mighty avenue of trees led to the castle, a large, bright, inviting construction, altogether different from what I had been imagining. Once inside, however, the poor lighting in the vast rooms, the ancient furniture and the immense silence left me feeling properly subdued once again.

As I dressed I composed a little speech with which to greet my host. We were shown into a spacious hall, across which the Earl, with a young girl at his side and three liveried footmen behind him, approached us with rapid steps. It all had the air of a princely reception. His severe, distinguished countenance wore an expression far removed from that of the amiable scholar-aristocrat I had met at Lady Malmsbury-Croft’s. He did not even wait for us to greet him. He simply shook my hand and began speaking, as if issuing the orders for the day.

“So you’re Maloney? Very good. I hope you will enjoy your stay. This lady is my niece Cynthia, Osborne’s sister. Rogers—the butler—has instructions to show you to the library in the morning, Doctor. Regrettably, I am unable to dine with you tonight. Do you have any questions?”

“Yes. I’ve received a ring, sent to me in an anonymous letter, asking me to give it to you. I think I should let you have it straight away.”

The Earl took the ring, and his face became even bleaker.

“You say you don’t know who this ring is from?”

“I have no idea, My Lord.”

The Earl turned on his heel and left us without another word.

“Interesting man,” Maloney remarked.

But my astonishment and dismay were too much for me. I felt absolutely disconsolate. It was impossible to deny: my premonition had not deceived me.