and go left from the landing."
"Got it." Karen glanced back, her eyes heavy. "I'll see you in the morning sometime, Frank."
"A very charming young lady," commented Winterbotham after Karen had departed. "Now, where was I?"
"The Talbot mansion," Frank said.
"It's a huge old pile set in the middle of a dozen bleak acres beyond the moors outside of town. Miss Emily has had few visitors and is said to be ailing. Very rich she is, but then money can't buy good health, as many another has learned. Nor good luck either, considering the accident just the other day."
"What sort of accident?" Frank wanted to know.
"Oh, now, it wasn't the young lady, it was her companion, Miss Sheridan." Winterbotham nodded vigorously. "Poor woman was struck down near the shops by a hit-and-run driver while she was out marketing. She languishes at the moment in a hospital two villages away."
"Who's looking after Emily Cornwall?"
"Ah, she had a bit of luck there - was able to hire someone locally to see to her needs until the injured lady is up and about again." He frowned, trying to remember. "A young woman, I believe, named Miss Forman."
"How lucky," Frank said. "Any other new arrivals in town?"
"Well, there's that Professor Hobart," the hotel proprietor answered. "He arrived a month or so ago, just before poor Miss Emily. Leased the old Oscard estate. That's the place most folk hereabouts call Castle Fear."
"Spooky name. Why do they call it that?"
"It's a grim, gray, bleak place, hundreds of years old, perched on a cliff overlooking the sea." Winterbotham shook his head. "Some say it's haunted. There are also those who say it was a smuggler's den in days gone by. Myself, I believe both stories and don't go near there after dark." He smiled a little shame-facedly. "Nor by day, I have to admit. Too many secret passages, tunnels, and such-like around Castle Fear. I wouldn't want to fall into one, not I."
"What's Professor Hobart supposed to be up to?"
"Writing a book, he says, about local folk customs. If you ask me, the folk around here don't have a single custom worth reading about, unless you're daft." Winterbotham shook his head. "And for the life of me I can't see why the professor needs half a dozen burly lads hanging about if all he does is scribble. But I'm the first to admit I've never tried to write a book. Perhaps he's got them keeping the roof up. The whole castle is in a shocking state. I'm surprised it hasn't tumbled down before now."
"Have you seen the professor?"
"Just the once," Winterbotham said. "He's not a bad-looking chap - tall, thin, and blond, with a bit of a mustache. Talked with him a bit about local customs. But I had the impression that he and I would never be close friends, if you know what I mean."
Frank stepped back from the registration desk. "How would I get to Castle Fear?"
Winterbotham stared at him. "You're not thinking of going there, lad. Not after what I've just told you."
"Actually, you made it sound quite interesting," Frank assured him. "I'm not at all sleepy, and a stroll is just what I need before turning in."
Sighing, Winterbotham ducked below the desk. He reappeared with a large flashlight and a knobby walking stick. "Better take these with you, sir, if you're going near Castle Fear."
***
Daylight came slowly, fighting its way through the heavy sea mist that hung over the countryside. Frank, swinging the borrowed walking stick, was working his way down the winding wooded path that led to the cliffside where Castle Fear stood. Though he couldn't see the ocean through the chilly fog, the salty scent of it was heavy in the air. From the distance came the cries of sea gulls.
Frank recalled the hotel proprietor's description of Professor Hobart, which came awfully close to describing the picture he'd seen of Nigel Hawkins. And the old castle sounded like a perfect headquarters for an illegal operation. Especially with lots of smugglers' tunnels for easy getaways.
Frank was moving briskly
Back in the Saddle (v5.0)