Words can not express the tediousness of that return journey. The affair which occupied all my thoughts was as yet too much enveloped1 in mystery for me to contemplate2 it with anything but an anxious and inquiring mind. While I clung with new and persistent3 hope to the thread which had been put in my hand, I was too conscious of the maze4 through which we must yet pass, before the light could be reached, to feel that lightness of spirit which in itself might have lessened5 the hours, and made bearable those days of forced inaction. To beguile6 the way a little, I made a complete analysis of the facts as they appeared to me in the light of this latest bit of evidence. The result was not strikingly encouraging, yet I will insert it, if only in proof of my diligence and the extreme interest I experienced in each and every stage of this perplexing affair. It again took the form of a summary and read as follows:
Facts as they now appear:
1. The peremptory7 demand for an interview which had been delivered to Miss Moore during the half-hour preceding her marriage had come, not from the bridegroom as I had supposed, but from the so-called stranger, Mr. Pfeiffer.
2. Her reply to this demand had been an order for that gentleman to be seated in the library.
3. The messenger carrying this order had been met and earnestly talked with by Mr. Jeffrey either immediately before or immediately after the aforementioned gentleman had been so seated.
4. Death reached Mr. Pfeiffer before the bride did.
5. Miss Moore remained in ignorance of this catastrophe8 till after her marriage, no intimation of the same having been given her by the few persons allowed to approach her before she descended9 to her nuptials10; yet she was seen to shrink unaccountably when her husband's lips touched hers, and when informed of the dreadful event before which she beheld12 all her guests fleeing, went from the house a changed woman.
6. For all this proof that Mr. Pfeiffer was well known to her, if not to the rest of the bridal party, no acknowledgment of this was made by any of them then or afterward13, nor any contradiction given either by husband or wife to the accepted theory that this seeming stranger from the West had gone into this fatal room of the Moores' to gratify his own morbid14 curiosity.
7. On the contrary, an extraordinary effort was immediately made by Mr. Jeffrey to rid himself of the only witnesses who could tell the truth concerning those fatal ten minutes; but this brought no peace to the miserable15 wife, who never again saw a really happy moment.
8. Extraordinary efforts at concealment16 argue extraordinary causes for fear. Fully17 too understand the circumstances of Mrs. Jeffrey's death, it would be necessary first to know what had happened in the Moore house when Mr. Jeffrey learned from Curly Jim that the man, whose hold upon his bride had been such that he dared to demand an interview with her just as she was on the point of descending18 to her nuptials, had been seated, or was about to be seated, in the room where death had once held its court and might easily be persuaded to hold court again.
This was the limit of my conclusions. I could get no further, and awaited my arrival in Washington with the greatest impatience19. But once there, and the responsibility of this new inquiry20 shifted to broader shoulders than my own, I was greatly surprised and as deeply chagrined21 to observe the whole affair lag unaccountably and to note that, in spite of my so-called important discoveries, the prosecution22 continued working up the case against Miss Tuttle in manifest intention of presenting it to the grand jury at its fall sitting.
Whether Durbin was to blame for this I could not say. Certainly his look was more or less quizzical when next we met, and this nettled23 me so that I at once came to the determination that whatever was in his mind, or in the minds of the men whose counsels he undoubtedly25 shared, I was going to make one more great effort on my own account; not to solve the main mystery, which had passed out of my hands, but to reach the hidden cause of the equally unexplained deaths which had occurred from time to time at the library fireplace.
For nothing could now persuade me that the two mysteries were not indissolubly connected, or that the elucidation26 of the one would not lead to the elucidation of the other.
To be sure, it was well accepted at headquarters that all possible attempts had been made in this direction and with nothing but failure as a result. The floor, the hearth27, the chimney, and, above all, the old settle, had been thoroughly28 searched. But to no avail. The secret had not been reached and had almost come to be looked upon as insolvable.
But I was not one to be affected29 by other men's failures. The encouragement afforded me by my late discoveries was such that I felt confident that nothing could hinder my success save the necessity of completely pulling down the house. Besides, all investigation30 had hitherto started, if it had not ended, in the library. I was resolved to begin work in quite a different spot. I had not forgotten the sensations I had experienced in the southwest chamber31.
During my absence this house had been released from surveillance. But the major still held the keys and I had no difficulty in obtaining them. The next thing was to escape its owner's vigilance. This I managed to do through the assistance of Jinny, and when midnight came and all lights went out in the opposite cottage I entered boldly upon the scene.
As before, I went first of all to the library. It was important to know at the outset that this room was in its normal condition. But this was not my only reason for prefacing my new efforts by a visit to this scene of death and mysterious horror. I had another, so seemingly puerile32, that I almost hesitate to mention it and would not if the sequel warranted its omission33.
I wished to make certain that I had exhausted34 every suspected, as well as every known clue, to the information I sought. In my long journey home and the hours of thought it had forced upon me, I had more than once been visited by flitting visions of things seen in this old house and afterward nearly forgotten. Among these was the book which on that first night of hurried search had given proofs of being in some one's hand within a very short period. The attention I had given it at a moment of such haste was necessarily cursory35, and when later a second opportunity was granted me of looking into it again, I had allowed a very slight obstacle to deter24 me. This was a mistake I was anxious to rectify36. Anything which had been touched with purpose at or near the time of so mysterious a tragedy,—and the position of this book on a shelf so high that a chair was needed to reach it proved that it had been sought and touched with purpose, held out the promise of a clue which one on so blind a trail as myself could not afford to ignore.
But when I had taken the book down and read again its totally uninteresting and unsuggestive title and, by another reference to its dim and faded leaves, found that my memory had not played me false and that it contained nothing but stupid and wholly irrelevant37 statistics, my confidence in it as a possible aid in the work I had in hand departed just as it had on the previous occasion. I was about to put it back on the shelf, when I bethought me of running my hand in behind the two books between which it had stood. Ah! that was it! Another book lay flat against the wall at the back of the shelf; and when, by the removal of those in front I was enabled to draw this book out, I soon saw why it had been relegated38 to such a remote place of concealment on the shelves of the Moore library.
It was a collection of obscure memoirs39 written by an English woman, but an English woman who had been in America during the early part of the century, and who had been brought more or less into contact with the mysteries connected with the Moore house in Washington. Several passages were marked, one particularly, by a heavy pencil-line running the length of the margin40. As the name of Moore was freely scattered41 through these passages as well as through two or three faded newspaper clippings which I discovered pasted on the inside cover, I lost no time in setting about their perusal42.
The following extracts are from the book itself, taken in the order in which I found them marked:
"It was about this time that I spent a week in the Moore house; that grand and historic structure concerning which and its occupants so many curious rumors43 are afloat. I knew nothing then of its discreditable fame; but from the first moment of my entrance into its ample and well lighted halls I experienced a sensation which I will not call dread11, but which certainly was far from being the impulse of pure delight which the graciousness of my hostess and the imposing44 character of the place itself were calculated to produce. This emotion was but transitory, vanishing, as was natural, in the excitement of my welcome and the extraordinary interest I took in Callista Moore, who in those days was a most fascinating little body. Small to the point of appearing diminutive45, and lacking all assertion in manner and bearing, she was nevertheless such a lady that she easily dominated all who approached her, and produced, quite against her will I am sure, an impression of aloofness46 seasoned with kindness, which made her a most surprising and entertaining study to the analytic47 observer. Her position as nominal48 mistress of an establishment already accounted one of the finest in Washington,—the real owner, Reuben Moore, preferring to live abroad with his French wife,—gave to her least action an importance which her shy, if not appealing looks, and a certain strained expression most difficult to characterize, vainly attempted to contradict. I could not understand her, and soon gave up the attempt; but my admiration49 held firm, and by the time the evening was half over I was her obedient slave. I think from what I know of her now that she would have preferred to be mine.
"I was put to sleep in a great chamber which I afterward heard called 'The Colonel's Own.' It was very grand and had a great bed in it almost royal in its size and splendor50. I believe that I shrank quite unaccountably from this imposing piece of furniture when I first looked at it; it seemed so big and so out of proportion to my slim little body. But admonished51 by the look which I surprised on Mistress Callista's high-bred face, I quickly recalled an expression so unsuited to my position as guest, and, with a gush52 of well-simulated rapture53, began to expatiate54 upon the interesting characteristics of the room, and express myself as delighted at the prospect55 of sleeping there.
"Instantly the nervous look left her, and, with the quiet remark, 'It was my father's room,' she set down the candles with which both her hands were burdened, and gave me a kiss so warm and surcharged with feeling that it sufficed to keep me happy and comfortable for a half-hour or more after she passed out.
"I had thought myself a very sleepy girl, but when, after a somewhat lengthened56 brooding over the dying embers in the open fireplace, I lay down behind the curtains of the huge bed, I found myself as far from sleep as I had ever been in my whole life.
"And I did not recover from this condition for the entire night. For hours I tossed from one side of the bed to the other in my efforts to avoid the persistent eyes of a scarcely-to-be-perceived drawing facing me from the opposite wall. It had no merit as a picture, this drawing, but seen as it was under the rays of a gibbous moon looking in through the half-open shutter57, it exercised upon me a spell such as I can not describe and hope never again to experience. Finally I rose and pulled the curtains violently together across the foot of the bed. This shut out the picture; but I found it worse to imagine it there with its haunting eyes peering at me through the intervening folds of heavy damask than to confront it openly; so I pushed the curtains back again, only to rise a half-hour later and twitch58 them desperately59 together once more.
"I fidgeted and worried so that night that I must have looked quite pale when my attentive60 hostess met me at the head of the stairs the next morning. For her hand shook quite perceptibly as she grasped mine, and her voice was pitched in no natural key as she inquired how I had slept. I replied, as truth, if not courtesy, demanded, 'Not as well as usual,' whereupon her eyes fell and she remarked quite hurriedly; 'I am so sorry; you shall have another room tonight,' adding, in what appeared to be an unconscious whisper: 'There is no use; all feel it; even the young and the gay;' then aloud and with irrepressible anxiety: 'You didn't see anything, dear?'
"'No!' I protested in suddenly awakened61 dismay; 'only the strange eyes of that queer drawing peering at me through the curtains of my bed. Is it—is it a haunted room?'
"Her look was a shocked one, her protest quite vehement62. 'Oh, no! No one has ever witnessed anything like a ghost there, but every one finds it impossible to sleep in that bed or even in the room. I do not know why, unless it is that my father spent so many weary years of incessant63 wakefulness inside its walls.'
"'And did he die in that bed?' I asked.
"She gave a startled shiver, and drew me hurriedly downstairs. As we paused at the foot, she pressed my hand and whispered:
"'Yes; at night; with the full of the moon upon him.'
"I answered her look with one she probably understood as little as I did hers. I had heard of this father of hers. He had been a terrible old man and had left a terrible memory behind him.
"The next day my room was changed according to her promise, but in the light of the charges I have since heard uttered against that house and the family who inhabit it, I am glad that I spent one night in what, if it was not a haunted chamber, had certainly a very thrilling effect upon its occupants."
Second passage; the italics showing where it was most heavily marked.
"The house contained another room as interesting as the one I have already mentioned. It went by the name of the library and its walls were heavily lined with books; but the family never sat there, nor was I ever fortunate enough to see it with its doors unclosed except on the occasion of the grand reception Mistress Callista gave in my honor. I have a fancy for big rooms and more than once urged my hostess to tell me why this one stood neglected. But the lady was not communicative on this topic and it was from another member of the household I learned that its precincts had been forever clouded by the unexpected death within them of one of her father's friends, a noted64 army officer.
"Why this should have occasioned a permanent disuse of the spot I could not understand, and as every one who conversed65 on this topic invariably gave the impression of saying less than the subject demanded, my curiosity soon became too much for me and I attacked Miss Callista once again in regard to it. She gave me a quick smile, for she was always amiable66, but shook her head and introduced another topic. But one night when the wind was howling in the chimneys and the sense of loneliness was even greater than usual in the great house, we drew together on the rug in front of my bedroom fire, and, as the embers burned down to ashes before us, Miss Callista became more communicative.
"Her heart was heavy, she told me; had been heavy for years. Perhaps some ray of comfort would reach her if she took a friend into her confidence. God knew that she needed one, especially on nights like this, when the wind woke echoes all over the house and it was hard to tell which most to fear, the sounds which came from no one knew where, or the silence which settled after.
"She trembled as she said this, and instinctively67 drew nearer my side so that our heads almost touched over the flickering68 flame from whose heat and light we sought courage. She seemed to feel grateful for this contact, and the next minute, flinging all her scruples69 to the wind, she began a relation of events which more or less answered my late unwelcome queries70.
"The death in the library, about which her most perplexing memory hung, took place when she was a child and her father held that high governmental position which has reflected so much credit upon the family. Her father and the man who thus perished had been intimate friends. They had fought together in the War of 1812 and received the same distinguishing marks of presidential approval afterward. They were both members of an important commission which brought them into diplomatic relations with England. It was while serving on this commission that the sudden break occurred which ended all intimate relations between them, and created a change in her father that was equally remarked at home and abroad. What occasioned this break no one knew. Whether his great ambition had received some check through the jealousy71 of this so-called friend—a supposition which did not seem possible, as he rose rapidly after this—or on account of other causes darkly hinted at by his contemporaries, but never breaking into open gossip, he was never the same man afterwards. His children, who used to rush with effusion to greet him, now shrank into corners at his step, or slid behind half open doors, whence they peered with fearful interest at his tall figure, pacing in moody72 silence the halls of his ancestral home, or sitting with frowning brows over the embers dying away on the great hearthstone of his famous library.
"Their mother, who was an invalid73, did not share these terrors. The father was ever tender of her, and the only smile they ever saw on his face came with his entrance into her darkened room.
"Such were Callista Moore's first memories. Those which followed were more definite and much more startling. President Jackson, who had a high opinion of her father's ability, advanced him rapidly. Finally a position was given him which raised him into national prominence74. As this had been the goal of his ambition for years, he was much gratified by this appointment, and though his smiles came no more frequently, his frowns lightened, and from being positively75 threatening, became simply morose76.
"Why this moroseness77 should have sharpened into menace after an unexpected visit from his once dear, but long estranged78 companion-in-arms, his daughter, even after long years of constant brooding upon this subject, dares not decide. If she could she might be happier.
"The general was a kindly79 man, sharp of face and of a tall thin figure, but with an eye to draw children and make them happy with a look. But his effect on the father was different. From the moment the two met in the great hall below, the temper of the host betrayed how little he welcomed this guest. He did not fail in courtesy—the Moores are always gentlemen—but it was a hard courtesy, which cut while it flattered. The two children, shrinking from its edge without knowing what it was that hurt them, slunk to covert80, and from behind the two pillars which mark the entrance to the library, watched the two men as they walked up and down the halls discussing the merits of this and that detail of the freshly furnished mansion81. These two innocent, but eager spies, whom fear rather than curiosity held in hiding, even caught some of the sentences which passed between tire so-called friends; and though these necessarily conveyed but little meaning to their childish minds, the words forming them were never forgotten, as witness these phrases confided82 to me by Mistress Callista twenty-five years afterward.
"'You have much that most men lack,' remarked the general, as they paused to admire some little specimen83 of Italian art which had been lately received from Genoa. 'You have money—too much money, Moore, by an amount I might easily name—a home which some might call palatial84, a lovely, if not altogether healthy wife, two fine children, and all the honor which a man in a commonwealth85 like this should ask for. drop politics.'
"'Politics are my life,' was the cold response. 'To bid me drop them is to bid me commit suicide.' Then, as an afterthought to which a moment of intervening silence added emphasis, 'And for you to drive me from them would be an act little short of murder.'
"'Justice dealt upon a traitor86 is not murder,' was the stern and unyielding reply. 'By one black deed of treacherous87 barter88 and sale, of which none of your countrymen is cognizant but myself, you have forfeited89 the confidence of this government. Were I, who so unhappily surprised your secret, to allow you to continue in your present place of trust, I myself would be a traitor to the republic for which I have fought and for which I am ready to die. That is why I ask you to resign before—'
"The two children did not catch the threat latent in that last word, but they realized the force of it from their father's look and were surprised when he quietly said:
"'You declare yourself to be the only man on the commission who is acquainted with the facts you are pleased to style traitorous90?'
"The general's lips curled. 'Have I not said?' he asked.
"Something in this stern honesty seemed to affect the father. His face turned away and it was the other's voice which was next heard. A change had taken place in it and it sounded almost mellow91 as it gave form to these words:
"'Alpheus, we have been friends. You shall have two weeks in which to think over my demand and decide. If at the end of that time you have not returned to domestic life you may expect another visit from me which can not fail of consequences. You know my temper when roused. Do not force me into a position which will cause us both endless regret.'
"Perhaps the father answered; perhaps he did not. The children heard nothing further, but they witnessed the gloom with which he rode away to the White House the next day. Remembering the general's threat, they imagined in their childish hearts that their father had gone to give up his post and newly acquired honors. But he returned at night without having done so, and from that day on carried his head higher and showed himself more and more the master, both at home and abroad.
"But he was restless, very restless, and possibly to allay92 a great mental uneasiness, he began having some changes made in the house; changes which occupied much of his time and with which he never seemed satisfied. Men working one day were dismissed the next and others called in until this work and everything else was interrupted by the return of his late unwelcome guest, who kept his appointment to a day.
"At this point in her narrative93 Mistress Callista's voice fell and the flame which had thrown a partial light on her countenance94 died down until I could but faintly discern the secretly inquiring look with which she watched me as she went on to say
"'Reuben and I,'—Reuben was her brother,—'were posted in the dark corner under the stairs when my father met the general at the door. We had expected to hear high words, or some explosion of bitter feeling between them, and hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry when our father welcomed his guest with the same elaborate bow we once saw him make to the president in the grounds of the White House. Nor could we understand what followed. We were summoned in to supper. Our mother was there—a great event in those days—and toasts were drunk and our father proposed one to the general's health. This Reuben thought was an open signal of peace, and turned upon me his great round eyes in surprise; but I, who was old enough to notice that this toast was not responded to and that the general did not even touch his lips to the glass he had lifted in compliment to our mother, who had lifted hers, felt that there was something terrifying rather than reassuring95 in this attempt at good fellowship.
Though unable to reason over it at the time, I have often done so since, and my father's attitude and look as he faced this strange guest has dwelt so persistently96 in my memory that scarcely a year passes without the scene coming up in my dreams with its accompanying emotions of fear and perplexity. For—perhaps you know the story—that hour was the general's last. He died before leaving the house; died in that same dark library concerning which you have asked so many questions.
"'I remember the circumstances well, how well down to each and every detail. Our mother had gone back to her room, and the general and my father, who did not linger over their wine—why should they, when the general would not drink?—had withdrawn97 to the library at the suggestion of the general, whose last words are yet lingering in my ears.
"'The time has come for our little talk,' said he. 'Your reception augurs—'
"'You do not look well,' my father here broke in, in what seemed an unnaturally99 loud voice. 'Come and sit down—'
"'Here the door closed.
"'We had hung about this door, curious children that we were, in hopes of catching100 a glimpse of the queer new settle which had been put into place that day. But we scampered101 away at this, and were playing in and out of the halls when the library door again opened and my father came out.
"'Where's Samba?' he cried. 'Tell him to carry a glass of wine in to the general. I do not like his looks. I am going upstairs for some medicine.' This he whispered in choked tones as he set foot on the stairs. Why I remember it I do not know, for Reuben, who was standing102 where he could look into the library when our father came out and saw the settle and the general sitting at one end of it, was chattering103 about it in my ear at the very moment our father was giving his orders.
"'Reuben is a man now, and I have asked him more than once since then how the general looked at that critical instant. It is important to me, very, very important, and to him, too, now that he has come to know a man's passions and temptations. But he will never tell me, never relieve my mind, and I can only hope that there were real signs of illness on the general's brow; for then I could feel that all had been right and that his death was the natural result of the great distress104 he felt at opposing my father in the one desire of his heart. That glimpse which Reuben had of him before he fell has always struck me with strange pathos105. A little child looking in upon a man, who, for all his apparent health, will in another moment be in eternity—I do not wonder he does not like to talk of it, and yet—
"'It was Samba who came upon the general first. Our father had not yet descended. When he did, it was with loud cries and piteous ejaculations. Word had gone upstairs and surprised him in the room with my mother. I recollect106 wondering in all childish simplicity107 why he wrung108 his hands so over the death of a man he so hated and feared. Nor was it till years had passed and our mother had been laid in the grave and the house had settled into a gloom too heavy and somber109 for Reuben to endure, that I recognized in my father the signs of a settled remorse110. These I endeavored to account for by the fact that he had been saved from what he looked upon as political death by the sudden but opportune111 decease of his best friend. This caused a shock to his feelings which had unnerved him for life. Don't you think this the true explanation of his invariably moody brow and the great distaste he always showed for this same library? Though he would live in no other house, he would not enter that room nor look at the gloomy settle from which the general had fallen to his death. The place was virtually tabooed, and though, as the necessity arose, it was opened from time to time for great festivities, the shadow it had acquired never left it and my father hated its very door until he died. Is it not natural that his daughter should share this feeling?'
"It was, and I said so; but I would say no more, though she cast me little appealing looks which acquired an eery significance from the pressure of her small fingers on my arm and the wailing112 sound of the wind which at that moment blew down in one gust113, scattering114 the embers and filling the house with banshee calls. I simply kissed her and advised her to go back with me to England and forget this old house and all its miserable memories. For that was the sum of the comfort at my poor command. When, after another restless night, I crept down in the early morning to peer into the dim and unused room whose story I had at last learned, I can not say but that I half expected to behold115 the meager116 ghost of the unfortunate general rise from the cushions of the prodigious117 bench which still kept its mysterious watch over the deserted118 hearthstone."
So much for the passages culled119 from the book itself. The newspaper excerpts120, to which I next turned, bore a much later date, and read as follows:
"A strange coincidence marks the death of Albert Moore in his brother's house yesterday. He was discovered lying with his head on the identical spot where General Lloyd fell forty years before. It is said that this sudden demise121 of a man hitherto regarded as a model of physical strength and endurance was preceded by a violent altercation122 with his elder brother. If this is so, the excitement incident upon such a break in their usually pleasant relations may account for his sudden death. Edward Moore, who, unfortunately, was out of the room when his brother succumbed—some say that he was in his grandfather's room above—was greatly unnerved by this unexpected end to what was probably merely a temporary quarrel, and now lies in a critical condition.
"The relations between him and the deceased Albert have always been of the most amicable123 character until they unfortunately fell in love with the same woman."
Attached to this was another slip, apparently124 from a later paper.
"The quarrel between the two brothers Moore, just prior to the younger one's death, turns out to have been of a more serious nature than was first supposed. It has since leaked out that an actual duel125 was fought at that time between these two on the floor of the old library; and that in this duel the elder one was wounded. Some even go so far as to affirm that the lady's hand was to be the reward of him who drew the first blood; it is no longer denied that the room was in great disorder126 when the servants first rushed in at the sound he made in falling. Everything movable had been pushed back against the wall and an open space cleared, in the center of which could be seen one drop of blood. What is certain is that Mr. Moore is held to the house by something even more serious than his deep grief, and that the young lady who was the object of this fatal dispute has left the city."
Pasted under this was the following short announcement:
"Married on the twenty-first of January, at the American consulate127 in Rome, Italy, Edward Moore, of Washington, D. C., United States of America, to Antoinette Sloan, daughter of Joseph Dewitt Sloan, also of that city."
With this notice my interest in the book ceased and I prepared to step down from the chair on which I had remained standing during the reading of the above passages.
As I did so I spied a slip of paper lying on the floor at my feet. As it had not been there ten minutes before there could be little doubt that it had slipped from the book whose leaves I had been turning over so rapidly. Hastening to recover it, I found it to be a sheet of ordinary note paper partly inscribed128 with words in a neat and distinctive129 handwriting. This was a great find, for the paper was fresh and the handwriting one which could be readily identified. What I saw written there was still more remarkable130. It had the look of some of the memoranda131 I had myself drawn98 up during the most perplexing moments of this strange case. I transcribe132 it just as it read:
"We have here two separate accounts of how death comes to those who breathe their last on the ancestral hearthstone of the Moore house library.
"Certain facts are emphasized in both:
"Each victim was alone when he fell.
"Each death was preceded by a scene of altercation or violent controversy133 between the victim and the alleged134 master of these premises135.
"In each case the master of the house reaped some benefit, real or fancied, from the other's death."
A curious set of paragraphs. Some one besides myself was searching for the very explanation I was at that moment intent upon. I should have considered it the work of our detectives if the additional lines I now came upon could have been written by any one but a Moore. But no one of any other blood or associations could have indited136 the amazing words which followed. The only excuse I could find for them was the difficulty which some men feel in formulating137 their thoughts otherwise than with pen and paper, they were so evidently intended for the writer's eye and understanding only, as witness:
"Let me recall the words my father was uttering when my brother rushed in upon us with that account of my misdeeds which changed all my prospects138 in life. It was my twenty-first birthday and the old man had just informed me that as the eldest139 son I might expect the house in which we stood to be mine one day and with it a secret which has been handed down from father to son ever since the Moores rose to eminence140 in the person of Colonel Alpheus. Then he noted that I was now of age and immediately went on to say: 'This means that you must be told certain facts, without the knowledge of which you would be no true Moore. These facts you must hereafter relate to your son or whoever may be fortunate enough to inherit from you. It is the legacy141 which goes with this house and one which no inheritor as yet has refused either to receive or to transmit. Listen. You have often noted the gold filigree142 ball which I wear on my watch-guard. This ball is the talisman143 of our house, of this house. If, in the course of your life you find yourself in an extremity144 from which no issue seems possible mind the strictness of the injunction—an extremity from which no issue seems possible (I have never been in such a case; the gold filigree ball has never been opened by me) you will take this trinket from its chain, press upon this portion of it so, and use what you will find inside, in connection with—' Alas145! it was at this point John Judson came rushing in and those disclosures were made which lost me my father's regard and gave to the informer my rightful inheritance, together with the full secret of which I only got a part. But that part must help me now to the whole. I have seen the filigree ball many times; Veronica has it now. But its contents have never been shown me. If I knew what they were and why the master of this secret always left the library—"
Here the memorandum146 ceased with a long line straggling from the letter y as if the writer had been surprised at his task.
The effect upon me of these remarkable words was to heighten my interest and raise me into a state of renewed hope, if not of active expectation.
Another mind than my own had been at work along the only groove147 which held out any promise of success, and this mind, having at its command certain family traditions, had let me into a most valuable secret. Another mind! Whose mind? That was a question easily answered. But one man could have written these words; the man who was thrust aside in early life in favor of his younger brother, and who now, by the sudden death of that brother's daughter, had come again into his inheritance. Uncle David, and he only, was the puzzled inquirer whose self-communings I had just read. This fact raised a new problem far me to work upon, and I could but ask when these lines were written—before or after Mr. Pfeiffer's death and whether he had ever succeeded in solving the riddle148 he had suggested, or whether it was still a baffling mystery to him. I was so moved by the suggestion conveyed in his final and half-finished sentence, that I soon lost sight of these lesser149 inquiries150 in the more important one connected with the filigree ball. For I had seen this filigree ball. I had even handled it. From the description given I was very certain that it had been one of the many trinkets I had observed lying on the dressing151 table when I made my first hasty examination of the room on the evening of Mrs. Jeffrey's death. Why had no premonition of its importance as a connecting link between these tragedies and their mysterious cause come to me at the time when it was within reach of my hand? It was too late now. It had been swept away with the other loose objects littering the place, and my opportunity for pursuing this very promising152 investigation was gone for the night.
Yet it was with a decided153 feeling of triumph that I finally locked the door of this old mansion behind me. Certainly I had taken a step forward since my entrance there, to which I had but to add another of equal importance to merit the attention of the superintendent154 himself.
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1
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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4
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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5
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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7
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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10
nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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12
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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13
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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14
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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15
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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16
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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17
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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18
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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19
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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20
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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21
chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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23
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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24
deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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25
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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26
elucidation
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| n.说明，阐明 | |
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27
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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28
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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29
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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30
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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31
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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32
puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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33
omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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34
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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35
cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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36
rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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37
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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38
relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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39
memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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40
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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41
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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42
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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43
rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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44
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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45
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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46
aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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47
analytic
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| adj.分析的，用分析方法的 | |
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48
nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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49
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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50
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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51
admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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52
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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53
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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54
expatiate
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| v.细说，详述 | |
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55
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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56
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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58
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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59
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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60
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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61
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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62
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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63
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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64
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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65
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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66
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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67
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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68
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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69
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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70
queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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71
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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72
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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73
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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74
prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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75
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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76
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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77
moroseness
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78
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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79
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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80
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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81
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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82
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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83
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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84
palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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85
commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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86
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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87
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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88
barter
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| n.物物交换，以货易货，实物交易 | |
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89
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
traitorous
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| adj. 叛国的, 不忠的, 背信弃义的 | |
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91
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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92
allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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93
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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94
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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95
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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96
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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97
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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98
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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99
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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100
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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101
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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103
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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104
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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105
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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106
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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107
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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108
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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109
somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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110
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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111
opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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112
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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113
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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114
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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115
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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116
meager
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| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
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117
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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118
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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119
culled
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| v.挑选，剔除( cull的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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excerpts
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| n.摘录，摘要( excerpt的名词复数 )；节选（音乐，电影）片段 | |
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121
demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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125
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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consulate
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| n.领事馆 | |
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128
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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131
memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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transcribe
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| v.抄写，誉写；改编(乐曲)；复制，转录 | |
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133
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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indited
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| v.写（文章，信等）创作，赋诗，创作( indite的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
formulating
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| v.构想出( formulate的现在分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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140
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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141
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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filigree
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| n.金银丝做的工艺品；v.用金银细丝饰品装饰；用华而不实的饰品装饰；adj.金银细丝工艺的 | |
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talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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153
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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