visitors like myself , who came to learn of the legends of the manor . He had granted me an audience mainly because I was representing the finest publishing house in Europe , and he had developed a collegiate friendship with my editor , who had forwarded my biography — a biography rife with knowledge of shades and shadows , demons and demimondes , conflicts and covens . I was an expert in all things weird and unholy , albeit an unwelcome one .
Lord Kettering was now sixty-five and had been universally known as a key ex-member of the House of Lords , and as a horseman and athlete whose vitality belied his years , but of late rumors circulated that mysterious incidents in the manor had sapped his strength and shaken to a degree his mental faculties . He appeared drawn and tired , and one instantly noted the cracks that radiated from his smile . His blue eyes were still bright , however , and only a little gray tinged his jet-black hair . I introduced myself and he offered me a chair opposite him . We sat for some minutes before the fire without speaking while I recovered from the chill without .
At length , the nobleman addressed me in a subdued tone . “ You have had a long journey from the City . May I suggest that I have you taken to your room where you can rest before dinner ? After we eat , I will be happy to begin answering your questions .”
“ That would be wonderful ,” I replied . “ I know you value your privacy and I truly appreciate you taking the time ...”
“ Nonsense ,” he smiled . “ I believe it now important to relieve my soul of some of its burden . I must
14