When we got upstairs, and had left our hats and sticks with the doorkeeper, we were admitted into the chief gambling-room. We did not find many people assembled there. But, few as the men were who looked up at us on our entrance, they were all types—lamentably true types—of their respective classes.
We had come to see blackguards; but these men were something worse. There is a comic side, more or less appreciable9, in all blackguardism—here there was nothing but tragedy—mute, weird10 tragedy. The quiet in the room was horrible. The thin, haggard, long-haired young man, whose sunken eyes fiercely watched the turning up of the cards, never spoke11; the flabby, fat-faced, pimply12 player, who pricked13 his piece of pasteboard perseveringly14, to register how often black won, and how often red—never spoke; the dirty, wrinkled old man, with the vulture eyes and the darned great-coat, who had lost his last sou, and still looked on desperately15, after he could play no longer—never spoke. Even the voice of the croupier sounded as if it were strangely dulled and thickened in the atmosphere of the room. I had entered the place to laugh, but the spectacle before me was something to weep over. I soon found it necessary to take refuge in excitement from the depression of spirits which was fast stealing on me. Unfortunately I sought the nearest excitement, by going to the table and beginning to play. Still more unfortunately, as the event will show, I won—won prodigiously16; won incredibly; won at such a rate that the regular players at the table crowded round me; and staring at my stakes with hungry, superstitious17 eyes, whispered to one another that the English stranger was going to break the bank.
The game was Rouge18 et Noir. I had played at it in every city in Europe, without, however, the care or the wish to study the Theory of Chances—that philosopher’s stone of all gamblers! And a gambler, in the strict sense of the word, I had never been. I was heart-whole from the corroding19 passion for play. My gaming was a mere3 idle amusement. I never resorted to it by necessity, because I never knew what it was to want money. I never practiced it so incessantly20 as to lose more than I could afford, or to gain more than I could coolly pocket without being thrown off my balance by my good luck. In short, I had hitherto frequented gambling-tables—just as I frequented ball-rooms and opera-houses—because they amused me, and because I had nothing better to do with my leisure hours.
But on this occasion it was very different—now, for the first time in my life, I felt what the passion for play really was. My success first bewildered, and then, in the most literal meaning of the word, intoxicated21 me. Incredible as it may appear, it is nevertheless true, that I only lost when I attempted to estimate chances, and played according to previous calculation. If I left everything to luck, and staked without any care or consideration, I was sure to win—to win in the face of every recognized probability in favor of the bank. At first some of the men present ventured their money safely enough on my color; but I speedily increased my stakes to sums which they dared not risk. One after another they left off playing, and breathlessly looked on at my game.
Still, time after time, I staked higher and higher, and still won. The excitement in the room rose to fever pitch. The silence was interrupted by a deep-muttered chorus of oaths and exclamations22 in different languages, every time the gold was shoveled23 across to my side of the table—even the imperturbable24 croupier dashed his rake on the floor in a (French) fury of astonishment25 at my success. But one man present preserved his self-possession, and that man was my friend. He came to my side, and whispering in English, begged me to leave the place, satisfied with what I had already gained. I must do him the justice to say that he repeated his warnings and entreaties26 several times, and only left me and went away after I had rejected his advice (I was to all intents and purposes gambling drunk) in terms which rendered it impossible for him to address me again that night.
Shortly after he had gone, a hoarse28 voice behind me cried: “Permit me, my dear sir—permit me to restore to their proper place two napoleons which you have dropped. Wonderful luck, sir! I pledge you my word of honor, as an old soldier, in the course of my long experience in this sort of thing, I never saw such luck as yours—never! Go on, sir—Sacre mille bombes! Go on boldly, and break the bank!”
I turned round and saw, nodding and smiling at me with inveterate29 civility, a tall man, dressed in a frogged and braided surtout.
If I had been in my senses, I should have considered him, personally, as being rather a suspicious specimen30 of an old soldier. He had goggling31, bloodshot eyes, mangy mustaches, and a broken nose. His voice betrayed a barrack-room intonation32 of the worst order, and he had the dirtiest pair of hands I ever saw—even in France. These little personal peculiarities33 exercised, however, no repelling34 influence on me. In the mad excitement, the reckless triumph of that moment, I was ready to “fraternize” with anybody who encouraged me in my game. I accepted the old soldier’s offered pinch of snuff; clapped him on the back, and swore he was the honestest fellow in the world—the most glorious relic35 of the Grand Army that I had ever met with. “Go on!” cried my military friend, snapping his fingers in ecstasy—“Go on, and win! Break the bank—Mille tonnerres! my gallant36 English comrade, break the bank!”
And I did go on—went on at such a rate, that in another quarter of an hour the croupier called out, “Gentlemen, the bank has discontinued for to-night.” All the notes, and all the gold in that “bank,” now lay in a heap under my hands; the whole floating capital of the gambling-house was waiting to pour into my pockets!
“Tie up the money in your pocket-handkerchief, my worthy37 sir,” said the old soldier, as I wildly plunged38 my hands into my heap of gold. “Tie it up, as we used to tie up a bit of dinner in the Grand Army; your winnings are too heavy for any breeches-pockets that ever were sewed. There! that’s it—shovel them in, notes and all! Credie! what luck! Stop! another napoleon on the floor! Ah! sacre petit polisson de Napoleon! have I found thee at last? Now then, sir—two tight double knots each way with your honorable permission, and the money’s safe. Feel it! feel it, fortunate sir! hard and round as a cannon-ball—Ah, bah! if they had only fired such cannon-balls at us at Austerlitz—nom d’une pipe! if they only had! And now, as an ancient grenadier, as an ex-brave of the French army, what remains39 for me to do? I ask what? Simply this: to entreat27 my valued English friend to drink a bottle of Champagne40 with me, and toast the goddess Fortune in foaming41 goblets42 before we part!”
Excellent ex-brave! Convivial43 ancient grenadier! Champagne by all means! An English cheer for an old soldier! Hurrah44! hurrah! Another English cheer for the goddess Fortune! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
“Bravo! the Englishman; the amiable45, gracious Englishman, in whose veins46 circulates the vivacious47 blood of France! Another glass? Ah, bah!—the bottle is empty! Never mind! Vive le vin! I, the old soldier, order another bottle, and half a pound of bonbons48 with it!”
“No, no, ex-brave; never—ancient grenadier! Your bottle last time; my bottle this. Behold49 it! Toast away! The French Army! the great Napoleon! the present company! the croupier! the honest croupier’s wife and daughters—if he has any! the Ladies generally! everybody in the world!”
By the time the second bottle of Champagne was emptied, I felt as if I had been drinking liquid fire—my brain seemed all aflame. No excess in wine had ever had this effect on me before in my life. Was it the result of a stimulant50 acting51 upon my system when I was in a highly excited state? Was my stomach in a particularly disordered condition? Or was the Champagne amazingly strong?
“Ex-brave of the French Army!” cried I, in a mad state of exhilaration, “I am on fire! how are you? You have set me on fire! Do you hear, my hero of Austerlitz? Let us have a third bottle of Champagne to put the flame out!”
The old soldier wagged his head, rolled his goggle-eyes, until I expected to see them slip out of their sockets52; placed his dirty forefinger53 by the side of his broken nose; solemnly ejaculated “Coffee!” and immediately ran off into an inner room.
The word pronounced by the eccentric veteran seemed to have a magical effect on the rest of the company present. With one accord they all rose to depart. Probably they had expected to profit by my intoxication55; but finding that my new friend was benevolently56 bent57 on preventing me from getting dead drunk, had now abandoned all hope of thriving pleasantly on my winnings. Whatever their motive58 might be, at any rate they went away in a body. When the old soldier returned, and sat down again opposite to me at the table, we had the room to ourselves. I could see the croupier, in a sort of vestibule which opened out of it, eating his supper in solitude59. The silence was now deeper than ever.
A sudden change, too, had come over the “ex-brave.” He assumed a portentously60 solemn look; and when he spoke to me again, his speech was ornamented62 by no oaths, enforced by no finger-snapping, enlivened by no apostrophes or exclamations.
“Listen, my dear sir,” said he, in mysteriously confidential63 tones—“listen to an old soldier’s advice. I have been to the mistress of the house (a very charming woman, with a genius for cookery!) to impress on her the necessity of making us some particularly strong and good coffee. You must drink this coffee in order to get rid of your little amiable exaltation of spirits before you think of going home—you must, my good and gracious friend! With all that money to take home to-night, it is a sacred duty to yourself to have your wits about you. You are known to be a winner to an enormous extent by several gentlemen present to-night, who, in a certain point of view, are very worthy and excellent fellows; but they are mortal men, my dear sir, and they have their amiable weaknesses. Need I say more? Ah, no, no! you understand me! Now, this is what you must do—send for a cabriolet when you feel quite well again—draw up all the windows when you get into it—and tell the driver to take you home only through the large and well-lighted thoroughfares. Do this; and you and your money will be safe. Do this; and to-morrow you will thank an old soldier for giving you a word of honest advice.”
Just as the ex-brave ended his oration64 in very lachrymose65 tones, the coffee came in, ready poured out in two cups. My attentive66 friend handed me one of the cups with a bow. I was parched67 with thirst, and drank it off at a draught68. Almost instantly afterwards, I was seized with a fit of giddiness, and felt more completely intoxicated than ever. The room whirled round and round furiously; the old soldier seemed to be regularly bobbing up and down before me like the piston69 of a steam-engine. I was half deafened70 by a violent singing in my ears; a feeling of utter bewilderment, helplessness, idiocy71, overcame me. I rose from my chair, holding on by the table to keep my balance; and stammered72 out that I felt dreadfully unwell—so unwell that I did not know how I was to get home.
“My dear friend,” answered the old soldier—and even his voice seemed to be bobbing up and down as he spoke—“my dear friend, it would be madness to go home in your state; you would be sure to lose your money; you might be robbed and murdered with the greatest ease. I am going to sleep here; do you sleep here, too—they make up capital beds in this house—take one; sleep off the effects of the wine, and go home safely with your winnings to-morrow—to-morrow, in broad daylight.”
I had but two ideas left: one, that I must never let go hold of my handkerchief full of money; the other, that I must lie down somewhere immediately, and fall off into a comfortable sleep. So I agreed to the proposal about the bed, and took the offered arm of the old soldier, carrying my money with my disengaged hand. Preceded by the croupier, we passed along some passages and up a flight of stairs into the bedroom which I was to occupy. The ex-brave shook me warmly by the hand, proposed that we should breakfast together, and then, followed by the croupier, left me for the night.
I ran to the wash-hand stand; drank some of the water in my jug74; poured the rest out, and plunged my face into it; then sat down in a chair and tried to compose myself. I soon felt better. The change for my lungs, from the fetid atmosphere of the gambling-room to the cool air of the apartment I now occupied, the almost equally refreshing75 change for my eyes, from the glaring gaslights of the “salon” to the dim, quiet flicker76 of one bedroom-candle, aided wonderfully the restorative effects of cold water. The giddiness left me, and I began to feel a little like a reasonable being again. My first thought was of the risk of sleeping all night in a gambling-house; my second, of the still greater risk of trying to get out after the house was closed, and of going home alone at night through the streets of Paris with a large sum of money about me. I had slept in worse places than this on my travels; so I determined77 to lock, bolt, and barricade78 my door, and take my chance till the next morning.
Accordingly, I secured myself against all intrusion; looked under the bed, and into the cupboard; tried the fastening of the window; and then, satisfied that I had taken every proper precaution, pulled off my upper clothing, put my light, which was a dim one, on the hearth79 among a feathery litter of wood-ashes, and got into bed, with the handkerchief full of money under my pillow.
I soon felt not only that I could not go to sleep, but that I could not even close my eyes. I was wide awake, and in a high fever. Every nerve in my body trembled—every one of my senses seemed to be preternaturally sharpened. I tossed and rolled, and tried every kind of position, and perseveringly sought out the cold corners of the bed, and all to no purpose. Now I thrust my arms over the clothes; now I poked80 them under the clothes; now I violently shot my legs straight out down to the bottom of the bed; now I convulsively coiled them up as near my chin as they would go; now I shook out my crumpled81 pillow, changed it to the cool side, patted it flat, and lay down quietly on my back; now I fiercely doubled it in two, set it up on end, thrust it against the board of the bed, and tried a sitting posture82. Every effort was in vain; I groaned83 with vexation as I felt that I was in for a sleepless84 night.
What could I do? I had no book to read. And yet, unless I found out some method of diverting my mind, I felt certain that I was in the condition to imagine all sorts of horrors; to rack my brain with forebodings of every possible and impossible danger; in short, to pass the night in suffering all conceivable varieties of nervous terror.
I raised myself on my elbow, and looked about the room—which was brightened by a lovely moonlight pouring straight through the window—to see if it contained any pictures or ornaments85 that I could at all clearly distinguish. While my eyes wandered from wall to wall, a remembrance of Le Maistre’s delightful little book, “Voyage autour de ma Chambre,” occurred to me. I resolved to imitate the French author, and find occupation and amusement enough to relieve the tedium86 of my wakefulness, by making a mental inventory87 of every article of furniture I could see, and by following up to their sources the multitude of associations which even a chair, a table, or a wash-hand stand may be made to call forth88.
In the nervous unsettled state of my mind at that moment, I found it much easier to make my inventory than to make my reflections, and thereupon soon gave up all hope of thinking in Le Maistre’s fanciful track—or, indeed, of thinking at all. I looked about the room at the different articles of furniture, and did nothing more.
There was, first, the bed I was lying in; a four-post bed, of all things in the world to meet with in Paris—yes, a thorough clumsy British four-poster, with the regular top lined with chintz—the regular fringed valance all round—the regular stifling89, unwholesome curtains, which I remembered having mechanically drawn back against the posts without particularly noticing the bed when I first got into the room. Then there was the marble-topped wash-hand stand, from which the water I had spilled, in my hurry to pour it out, was still dripping, slowly and more slowly, on to the brick floor. Then two small chairs, with my coat, waistcoat, and trousers flung on them. Then a large elbow-chair covered with dirty-white dimity, with my cravat90 and shirt collar thrown over the back. Then a chest of drawers with two of the brass91 handles off, and a tawdry, broken china inkstand placed on it by way of ornament61 for the top. Then the dressing-table, adorned92 by a very small looking-glass, and a very large pincushion. Then the window—an unusually large window. Then a dark old picture, which the feeble candle dimly showed me. It was a picture of a fellow in a high Spanish hat, crowned with a plume93 of towering feathers. A swarthy, sinister94 ruffian, looking upward, shading his eyes with his hand, and looking intently upward—it might be at some tall gallows95 at which he was going to be hanged. At any rate, he had the appearance of thoroughly deserving it.
This picture put a kind of constraint96 upon me to look upward too—at the top of the bed. It was a gloomy and not an interesting object, and I looked back at the picture. I counted the feathers in the man’s hat—they stood out in relief—three white, two green. I observed the crown of his hat, which was of conical shape, according to the fashion supposed to have been favored by Guido Fawkes. I wondered what he was looking up at. It couldn’t be at the stars; such a desperado was neither astrologer nor astronomer97. It must be at the high gallows, and he was going to be hanged presently. Would the executioner come into possession of his conical crowned hat and plume of feathers? I counted the feathers again—three white, two green.
While I still lingered over this very improving and intellectual employment, my thoughts insensibly began to wander. The moonlight shining into the room reminded me of a certain moonlight night in England—the night after a picnic party in a Welsh valley. Every incident of the drive homeward, through lovely scenery, which the moonlight made lovelier than ever, came back to my remembrance, though I had never given the picnic a thought for years; though, if I had tried to recollect98 it, I could certainly have recalled little or nothing of that scene long past. Of all the wonderful faculties99 that help to tell us we are immortal100, which speaks the sublime101 truth more eloquently102 than memory? Here was I, in a strange house of the most suspicious character, in a situation of uncertainty103, and even of peril104, which might seem to make the cool exercise of my recollection almost out of the question; nevertheless, remembering, quite involuntarily, places, people, conversations, minute circumstances of every kind, which I had thought forgotten forever; which I could not possibly have recalled at will, even under the most favorable auspices105. And what cause had produced in a moment the whole of this strange, complicated, mysterious effect? Nothing but some rays of moonlight shining in at my bedroom window.
I was still thinking of the picnic—of our merriment on the drive home—of the sentimental106 young lady who would quote “Childe Harold” because it was moonlight. I was absorbed by these past scenes and past amusements, when, in an instant, the thread on which my memories hung snapped asunder107; my attention immediately came back to present things more vividly108 than ever, and I found myself, I neither knew why nor wherefore, looking hard at the picture again.
Looking for what?
Good God! the man had pulled his hat down on his brows! No! the hat itself was gone! Where was the conical crown? Where the feathers—three white, two green? Not there! In place of the hat and feathers, what dusky object was it that now hid his forehead, his eyes, his shading hand?
Was the bed moving?
I turned on my back and looked up. Was I mad? drunk? dreaming? giddy again? or was the top of the bed really moving down—sinking slowly, regularly, silently, horribly, right down throughout the whole of its length and breadth—right down upon me, as I lay underneath109?
My blood seemed to stand still. A deadly paralysing coldness stole all over me as I turned my head round on the pillow and determined to test whether the bed-top was really moving or not, by keeping my eye on the man in the picture.
The next look in that direction was enough. The dull, black, frowzy110 outline of the valance above me was within an inch of being parallel with his waist. I still looked breathlessly. And steadily111 and slowly—very slowly—I saw the figure, and the line of frame below the figure, vanish, as the valance moved down before it.
I am, constitutionally, anything but timid. I have been on more than one occasion in peril of my life, and have not lost my self-possession for an instant; but when the conviction first settled on my mind that the bed-top was really moving, was steadily and continuously sinking down upon me, I looked up shuddering112, helpless, panic-stricken, beneath the hideous113 machinery114 for murder, which was advancing closer and closer to suffocate115 me where I lay.
I looked up, motionless, speechless, breathless. The candle, fully73 spent, went out; but the moonlight still brightened the room. Down and down, without pausing and without sounding, came the bed-top, and still my panic-terror seemed to bind116 me faster and faster to the mattress117 on which I lay—down and down it sank, till the dusty odor from the lining118 of the canopy119 came stealing into my nostrils120.
At that final moment the instinct of self-preservation startled me out of my trance, and I moved at last. There was just room for me to roll myself sidewise off the bed. As I dropped noiselessly to the floor, the edge of the murderous canopy touched me on the shoulder.
Without stopping to draw my breath, without wiping the cold sweat from my face, I rose instantly on my knees to watch the bed-top. I was literally121 spellbound by it. If I had heard footsteps behind me, I could not have turned round; if a means of escape had been miraculously122 provided for me, I could not have moved to take advantage of it. The whole life in me was, at that moment, concentrated in my eyes.
It descended123—the whole canopy, with the fringe round it, came down—down—close down; so close that there was not room now to squeeze my finger between the bed-top and the bed. I felt at the sides, and discovered that what had appeared to me from beneath to be the ordinary light canopy of a four-post bed was in reality a thick, broad mattress, the substance of which was concealed125 by the valance and its fringe. I looked up and saw the four posts rising hideously126 bare. In the middle of the bed-top was a huge wooden screw that had evidently worked it down through a hole in the ceiling, just as ordinary presses are worked down on the substance selected for compression. The frightful127 apparatus128 moved without making the faintest noise. There had been no creaking as it came down; there was now not the faintest sound from the room above. Amid a dead and awful silence I beheld129 before me—in the nineteenth century, and in the civilized130 capital of France—such a machine for secret murder by suffocation131 as might have existed in the worst days of the Inquisition, in the lonely inns among the Hartz Mountains, in the mysterious tribunals of Westphalia! Still, as I looked on it, I could not move, I could hardly breathe, but I began to recover the power of thinking, and in a moment I discovered the murderous conspiracy132 framed against me in all its horror.
My cup of coffee had been drugged, and drugged too strongly. I had been saved from being smothered134 by having taken an overdose of some narcotic135. How I had chafed136 and fretted137 at the fever fit which had preserved my life by keeping me awake! How recklessly I had confided138 myself to the two wretches139 who had led me into this room, determined, for the sake of my winnings, to kill me in my sleep by the surest and most horrible contrivance for secretly accomplishing my destruction! How many men, winners like me, had slept, as I had proposed to sleep, in that bed, and had never been seen or heard of more! I shuddered140 at the bare idea of it.
But, ere long, all thought was again suspended by the sight of the murderous canopy moving once more. After it had remained on the bed—as nearly as I could guess—about ten minutes, it began to move up again. The villains141 who worked it from above evidently believed that their purpose was now accomplished142. Slowly and silently, as it had descended, that horrible bed-top rose towards its former place. When it reached the upper extremities143 of the four posts, it reached the ceiling, too. Neither hole nor screw could be seen; the bed became in appearance an ordinary bed again—the canopy an ordinary canopy—even to the most suspicious eyes.
Now, for the first time, I was able to move—to rise from my knees—to dress myself in my upper clothing—and to consider of how I should escape. If I betrayed by the smallest noise that the attempt to suffocate me had failed, I was certain to be murdered. Had I made any noise already? I listened intently, looking towards the door.
No! no footsteps in the passage outside—no sound of a tread, light or heavy, in the room above—absolute silence everywhere. Besides locking and bolting my door, I had moved an old wooden chest against it, which I had found under the bed. To remove this chest (my blood ran cold as I thought of what its contents might be!) without making some disturbance144 was impossible; and, moreover, to think of escaping through the house, now barred up for the night, was sheer insanity145. Only one chance was left me—the window. I stole to it on tiptoe.
My bedroom was on the first floor, above an entresol, and looked into a back street, which you have sketched146 in your view. I raised my hand to open the window, knowing that on that action hung, by the merest hair-breadth, my chance of safety. They keep vigilant147 watch in a House of Murder. If any part of the frame cracked, if the hinge creaked, I was a lost man! It must have occupied me at least five minutes, reckoning by time—five hours, reckoning by suspense—to open that window. I succeeded in doing it silently—in doing it with all the dexterity148 of a house-breaker—and then looked down into the street. To leap the distance beneath me would be almost certain destruction! Next, I looked round at the sides of the house. Down the left side ran a thick water-pipe which you have drawn—it passed close by the outer edge of the window. The moment I saw the pipe I knew I was saved. My breath came and went freely for the first time since I had seen the canopy of the bed moving down upon me!
To some men the means of escape which I had discovered might have seemed difficult and dangerous enough—to me the prospect149 of slipping down the pipe into the street did not suggest even a thought of peril. I had always been accustomed, by the practice of gymnastics, to keep up my school-boy powers as a daring and expert climber; and knew that my head, hands, and feet would serve me faithfully in any hazards of ascent150 or descent. I had already got one leg over the window-sill, when I remembered the handkerchief filled with money under my pillow. I could well have afforded to leave it behind me, but I was revengefully determined that the miscreants151 of the gambling-house should miss their plunder152 as well as their victim. So I went back to the bed and tied the heavy handkerchief at my back by my cravat.
Just as I had made it tight and fixed153 it in a comfortable place, I thought I heard a sound of breathing outside the door. The chill feeling of horror ran through me again as I listened. No! dead silence still in the passage—I had only heard the night air blowing softly into the room. The next moment I was on the window-sill—and the next I had a firm grip on the water-pipe with my hands and knees.
I slid down into the street easily and quietly, as I thought I should, and immediately set off at the top of my speed to a branch “Prefecture” of Police, which I knew was situated154 in the immediate54 neighborhood. A “Sub-prefect,” and several picked men among his subordinates, happened to be up, maturing, I believe, some scheme for discovering the perpetrator of a mysterious murder which all Paris was talking of just then. When I began my story, in a breathless hurry and in very bad French, I could see that the Sub-prefect suspected me of being a drunken Englishman who had robbed somebody; but he soon altered his opinion as I went on, and before I had anything like concluded, he shoved all the papers before him into a drawer, put on his hat, supplied me with another (for I was bareheaded), ordered a file of soldiers, desired his expert followers155 to get ready all sorts of tools for breaking open doors and ripping up brick flooring, and took my arm, in the most friendly and familiar manner possible, to lead me with him out of the house. I will venture to say that when the Sub-prefect was a little boy, and was taken for the first time to the play, he was not half as much pleased as he was now at the job in prospect for him at the gambling-house!
Away we went through the streets, the Sub-prefect cross-examining and congratulating me in the same breath as we marched at the head of our formidable posse comitatus. Sentinels were placed at the back and front of the house the moment we got to it; a tremendous battery of knocks was directed against the door; a light appeared at a window; I was told to conceal124 myself behind the police—then came more knocks and a cry of “Open in the name of the law!” At that terrible summons bolts and locks gave way before an invisible hand, and the moment after the Sub-prefect was in the passage, confronting a waiter half-dressed and ghastly pale. This was the short dialogue which immediately took place:
“We want to see the Englishman who is sleeping in this house?”
“He went away hours ago.”
“He did no such thing. His friend went away; he remained. Show us to his bedroom!”
“I swear to you, Monsieur le Sous-prefect, he is not here! he—”
“I swear to you, Monsieur le Garcon, he is. He slept here—he didn’t find your bed comfortable—he came to us to complain of it—here he is among my men—and here am I ready to look for a flea156 or two in his bedstead. Renaudin! (calling to one of the subordinates, and pointing to the waiter) collar that man and tie his hands behind him. Now, then, gentlemen, let us walk upstairs!”
Every man and woman in the house was secured—the “Old Soldier” the first. Then I identified the bed in which I had slept, and then we went into the room above.
No object that was at all extraordinary appeared in any part of it. The Sub-prefect looked round the place, commanded everybody to be silent, stamped twice on the floor, called for a candle, looked attentively157 at the spot he had stamped on, and ordered the flooring there to be carefully taken up. This was done in no time. Lights were produced, and we saw a deep raftered cavity between the floor of this room and the ceiling of the room beneath. Through this cavity there ran perpendicularly158 a sort of case of iron thickly greased; and inside the case appeared the screw, which communicated with the bed-top below. Extra lengths of screw, freshly oiled; levers covered with felt; all the complete upper works of a heavy press—constructed with infernal ingenuity159 so as to join the fixtures160 below, and when taken to pieces again, to go into the smallest possible compass—were next discovered and pulled out on the floor. After some little difficulty the Sub-prefect succeeded in putting the machinery together, and, leaving his men to work it, descended with me to the bedroom. The smothering161 canopy was then lowered, but not so noiselessly as I had seen it lowered. When I mentioned this to the Sub-prefect, his answer, simple as it was, had a terrible significance. “My men,” said he, “are working down the bed-top for the first time—the men whose money you won were in better practice.”
We left the house in the sole possession of two police agents—every one of the inmates162 being removed to prison on the spot. The Sub-prefect, after taking down my “proces verbal” in his office, returned with me to my hotel to get my passport. “Do you think,” I asked, as I gave it to him, “that any men have really been smothered in that bed, as they tried to smother133 me?”
“I have seen dozens of drowned men laid out at the Morgue,” answered the Sub-prefect, “in whose pocket-books were found letters stating that they had committed suicide in the Seine, because they had lost everything at the gaming table. Do I know how many of those men entered the same gambling-house that you entered? won as you won? took that bed as you took it? slept in it? were smothered in it? and were privately163 thrown into the river, with a letter of explanation written by the murderers and placed in their pocket-books? No man can say how many or how few have suffered the fate from which you have escaped. The people of the gambling-house kept their bedstead machinery a secret from us—even from the police! The dead kept the rest of the secret for them. Good-night, or rather good-morning, Monsieur Faulkner! Be at my office again at nine o’clock—in the meantime, au revoir!”
The rest of my story is soon told. I was examined and re-examined; the gambling-house was strictly164 searched all through from top to bottom; the prisoners were separately interrogated165; and two of the less guilty among them made a confession166. I discovered that the Old Soldier was the master of the gambling-house—justice discovered that he had been drummed out of the army as a vagabond years ago; that he had been guilty of all sorts of villainies since; that he was in possession of stolen property, which the owners identified; and that he, the croupier, another accomplice167, and the woman who had made my cup of coffee, were all in the secret of the bedstead. There appeared some reason to doubt whether the inferior persons attached to the house knew anything of the suffocating168 machinery; and they received the benefit of that doubt, by being treated simply as thieves and vagabonds. As for the Old Soldier and his two head myrmidons, they went to the galleys169; the woman who had drugged my coffee was imprisoned170 for I forget how many years; the regular attendants at the gambling-house were considered “suspicious” and placed under “surveillance”; and I became, for one whole week (which is a long time) the head “lion” in Parisian society. My adventure was dramatized by three illustrious play-makers, but never saw theatrical171 daylight; for the censorship forbade the introduction on the stage of a correct copy of the gambling-house bedstead.
One good result was produced by my adventure, which any censorship must have approved: it cured me of ever again trying “Rouge et Noir” as an amusement. The sight of a green cloth, with packs of cards and heaps of money on it, will henceforth be forever associated in my mind with the sight of a bed canopy descending172 to suffocate me in the silence and darkness of the night.
Just as Mr. Faulkner pronounced these words he started in his chair, and resumed his stiff, dignified173 position in a great hurry. “Bless my soul!” cried he, with a comic look of astonishment and vexation, “while I have been telling you what is the real secret of my interest in the sketch you have so kindly174 given to me, I have altogether forgotten that I came here to sit for my portrait. For the last hour or more I must have been the worst model you ever had to draw from!”
“On the contrary, you have been the best,” said I. “I have been trying to catch your likeness175; and, while telling your story, you have unconsciously shown me the natural expression I wanted to insure my success.”
NOTE BY MRS. KERBY.
I cannot let this story end without mentioning what the chance saying was which caused it to be told at the farmhouse176 the other night. Our friend the young sailor, among his other quaint177 objections to sleeping on shore, declared that he particularly hated four-post beds, because he never slept in one without doubting whether the top might not come down in the night and suffocate him. I thought this chance reference to the distinguishing feature of William’s narrative178 curious enough, and my husband agreed with me. But he says it is scarcely worth while to mention such a trifle in anything so important as a book. I cannot venture, after this, to do more than slip these lines in modestly at the end of the story. If the printer should notice my few last words, perhaps he may not mind the trouble of putting them into some out-of-the-way corner.
L. K.
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1
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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12
pimply
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| adj.肿泡的；有疙瘩的；多粉刺的；有丘疹的 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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14
perseveringly
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| 坚定地 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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19
corroding
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| 使腐蚀，侵蚀( corrode的现在分词 ) | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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shoveled
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| vt.铲，铲出（shovel的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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29
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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30
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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31
goggling
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| v.睁大眼睛瞪视， （惊讶的）转动眼珠( goggle的现在分词 ) | |
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32
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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33
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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34
repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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35
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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37
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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39
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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40
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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41
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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42
goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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43
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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44
hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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45
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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46
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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47
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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bonbons
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| n.小糖果( bonbon的名词复数 ) | |
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49
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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50
stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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51
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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52
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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53
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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54
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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55
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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56
benevolently
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| adv.仁慈地，行善地 | |
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57
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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58
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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59
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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60
portentously
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61
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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62
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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64
oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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65
lachrymose
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| adj.好流泪的，引人落泪的；adv.眼泪地，哭泣地 | |
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66
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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67
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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68
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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69
piston
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| n.活塞 | |
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70
deafened
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| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
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71
idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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72
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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74
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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76
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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78
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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80
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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81
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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82
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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83
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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84
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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85
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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86
tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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87
inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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88
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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89
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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90
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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91
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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92
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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93
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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94
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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astronomer
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| n.天文学家 | |
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98
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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100
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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101
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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102
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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103
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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104
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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105
auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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106
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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107
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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108
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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109
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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110
frowzy
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| adj.不整洁的；污秽的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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113
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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115
suffocate
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| vt.使窒息，使缺氧，阻碍；vi.窒息，窒息而亡，阻碍发展 | |
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116
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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117
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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118
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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119
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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120
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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121
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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122
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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123
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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124
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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125
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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126
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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127
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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128
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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129
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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130
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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131
suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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132
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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133
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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134
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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135
narcotic
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| n.麻醉药，镇静剂；adj.麻醉的，催眠的 | |
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136
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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137
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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138
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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139
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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140
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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141
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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142
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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143
extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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144
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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145
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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146
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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147
vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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148
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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149
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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150
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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151
miscreants
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| n.恶棍，歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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152
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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153
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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154
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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155
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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156
flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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157
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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158
perpendicularly
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| adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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159
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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160
fixtures
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| （房屋等的）固定装置( fixture的名词复数 )； 如（浴盆、抽水马桶）； 固定在某位置的人或物； （定期定点举行的）体育活动 | |
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161
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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162
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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163
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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164
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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165
interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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166
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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167
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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168
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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169
galleys
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| n.平底大船，战舰( galley的名词复数 )；（船上或航空器上的）厨房 | |
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170
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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171
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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172
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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173
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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174
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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175
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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176
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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177
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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178
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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