They couldn't hear you."
It was the older portion of the house and one which by reason of its
draughts was rarely used in winter, to which Carl drove his shaking
prisoner. In summer it was cool and pleasant. In winter, however, it
was cut off from heat and habitation by lock and key.
At Carl's curt direction Kronberg turned the key in the door and passed
through the icy file of rooms beyond to the second floor, thence to a
dusty attic where the sweep of the wind and snow seemed very close, and
on to an ancient cluster of storerooms. Years back when the old
farmhouse had been an inn, shivering servants had made these chill and
dusty rooms more habitable. Now with the deserted wing below and the
wind-feet of the Bacchante on the roof above, they were inexpressibly
lonely and dreary.
Kronberg bit his lip and shuddered. His fear of the grim young guard
behind him had been subtly aggravated by the desolation of his destined
jail.
Halting in the doorway of an inner room, Carl held the light high and
nodded with approval.
Its dim rays fell upon dust and cobwebs, trunks and the nondescript
relics of years of hoarding. There were no windows; only a skylight
above clouded by the whirl of the storm.
Carl seated himself upon a trunk, placed the lamp beside him and
directed his guest to a point opposite.
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