Time and again he had been uneasy, even startled, by his friend’s actions, feeling that there was a certain amount of mental aberration2. He had felt, too, that it was quite possible that in some sudden paroxysm, when galled3 by his dictation, Stratton might strike at him, but until now he had never known absolute fear.
For, manly4 and reckless as he was as a rule, he could not conceal5 from himself that Stratton was, after all, dangerous. That turning out of the light had been intentional6; there must have been an object in view, and, in his tremor7 of nerve, Guest could think of no other aim than that of making a sudden attack upon one who had become irksome to him.
They were quite alone in that solitary8 place. If he called for help, no one would hear, and he might be struck down and killed. Stratton, in his madness, might find some means of hiding his body, and—what then? Edie—poor little Edie, with her bright ways and merry, teasing smiles? He would never see her again; and she, too, poor little one, would be heart-broken, till some luckier fellow came along to make her happy.
“No, I’ll be hanged if he shall,” thought Guest, as a culmination9 to the rapid rush of thought that flashed through his brain. “Poor old Stratton is really as mad as a hatter; but, even if he has such thoughts, I’ve as good a chance as he has in the dark, and I’ll die hard. Bah! who’s going to die? Where’s the window, or the door? Here, this is a nice game, Mal,” he said aloud, quite firmly. “Where are your matches?”
But, as he spoke10, he made a couple of rapid steps silently, to his right, with outstretched hands, so as to conceal his position from Stratton in the event of the latter meditating11 an attack—an event which Guest would not now allow.
There was no reply, and Guest stood listening for a few moments before speaking again.
“Do you hear?” he said. “You shouldn’t have been in such a hurry. Open the door, or I shall be upsetting some of your treasures.”
Half angry with himself for his cowardice12, as he called it, he repeated his monologue13 and listened; but he could only hear the throbbings of his own heart.
“Well, of all the ways of getting rid of an unwelcome guest—no joke meant, old man—this is about the shadiest. Here,” he cried, more excitedly now, in spite of his efforts to be calm, “why don’t you speak?”
He did not step aside now, but stood firm, with his fists clenched14, ready to strike out with all his might in case of attack, though even then he was fighting hard to force down the rising dread15, and declaring to himself that he was a mere16 child to be frightened at being in the dark.
But he knew that he had good cause. Utter darkness is a horror of itself when the confusion of being helpless and in total ignorance of one’s position is superadded. Nature plays strange pranks17 then with one’s mental faculties19, even as she does with a traveller in some dense20 fog, or the unfortunate who finds himself “bushed,” or lost in the primeval forest, far from help and with the balance of his mind upset. He learns at such a time that his boasted strength of nerve is very small indeed, and that the bravest and strongest man may succumb21 to a dread that makes him as timid as a child.
Small as was the space in which he stood, and easy as it would have been, after a little calm reflection, to find door or window, Guest felt that he was rapidly losing his balance; for he dare not stir, face to face as he was with the dread that Stratton really was mad, and that in his cunning he had seized this opportunity for ridding himself of one who must seem to him like a keeper always on the watch to thwart22 him.
He remained there silent, the cold sweat breaking out all over his face, and his hearing strained to catch the sound of the slightest movement, or even the heavy breathing of the man waiting for an opportunity to strike him down.
For it was in vain to try and combat this feeling. He could find no other explanation in his confused mental state. That must be Stratton’s intention, and the only thing to do was to be on the alert and master him when the time for the great struggle came.
There were moments, as Guest stood there breathing as softly as he could, when he felt that this horrible suspense23 must have been going on for hours; and, as he looked round, the blackness seemed to be full of strange, gliding24 points of light, which he was ready to think must be Stratton’s eyes, till common-sense told him that it was all fancy. Then, too, he felt certain that he could hear rapid movements and his enemy approaching him, but the sounds were made by his own pulses; otherwise all was still as death. And at the mental suggestion of death his horror grew more terrible than he could bear. He grew faint and giddy, and made a snatch in the air as if to save himself.
The sensation passed off as quickly as it came, but in those brief moments Guest felt how narrow was the division between sanity25 and its reverse, and in a dread greater now than that of an attack by Stratton, he set his teeth, drew himself up, and forcing himself to grasp the fact that all this was only the result of a minute or two in the darkness, he craned forward his neck in the direction of where he believed Stratton to be, and listened.
Not a breath; not a sound.
There was a clock on the mantelpiece, and he tried to hear its calm, gentle tick, but gave that up on the instant, feeling sure that it must have been neglected and left unwound, and nerving himself now, he spoke out sharply:
“Look here, Mal, old fellow, don’t play the fool. Either open the door, or strike a light, before I smash something valuable.”
There was no reply, but the effort he had made over himself had somewhat restored his balance, and he felt ready to laugh at his childish fears.
“Has he gone, and left me locked in?” he thought, after striving in vain to hear a sound.
Improbable; for he had not heard the door open or close, and he would have seen the dim light from the staircase.
No, not if Stratton had softly passed through the inner door and closed it after him before opening the outer.
“Here, I must act,” he said to himself, mentally strung once more. “He couldn’t have played me such a fool’s prank18 as that. Now, where am I? The writing table should be straight out there.”
He stretched forth26 his hand cautiously, and touched something which moved. It was a picture in the middle of a panel, hanging by a fine wire from the rod, and Guest faced round sharply with a touch of his old dread, for he knew now that he had been for long enough standing27 in a position that would give his enemy—if enemy Stratton was—an opportunity for striking him down from behind.
With the idea growing upon him that his alarm had all been vain, and that Stratton must have gone straight out the moment he had turned down the lamp—either in his absent state forgetting his presence, or imagining that he had gone on out—Guest felt now a strange kind of irritability28 against himself, and, with the dread completely gone, he began to move cautiously, and pausing step by step, till his outstretched hands came in contact with a bronze ornament29, which fell into the fender with a loud clang.
Guest started round once more, knowing exactly where he stood, and facing Stratton, who seemed to have sprung out of his seat.
“Who’s there?” he cried fiercely.
“Who’s there?” retorted Guest. “Why, what’s come to you, man? Where are your lights? Bah!” he added to himself, “have I lost my head, too?”
As he spoke he drew a little silver case from his vest pocket, and struck a wax match, whose bright light showed his friend sunk back in the chair by the writing table, gazing wildly in his face.
A glance showed Guest a candle in a little holder30 on the mantelpiece, and applying the match, in another moment the black horror had given place to his friend’s room, with Stratton looking utterly31 prostrate32, and unworthy of a moment’s dread.
Guest’s words partook of his feeling of annoyance33 with himself at having given his imagination so much play.
“Here, what’s come to you, man?” he cried, seizing Stratton roughly by the shoulder.
“Come to me? I—I—don’t know.”
“Have you been sitting there ever since you put out the light?”
“Yes—I think so.”
“But you heard me speak to you?”
“No; I think not. What did you say?”
“He’s trembling like a leaf,” thought Guest. “Worse than I was.”
Then aloud:
“I say, you had better have a glass of grog, and then go to bed. I’ll stop with you if you like.”
“Here? No, no; come along. It must be getting late.”
He made for the door and opened it, signed to Guest to come, and stood waiting.
“All right; but don’t leave that candle burning, man. You seem determined34 to burn down this place.”
Stratton uttered a curious little laugh, and hastily crossed the room to the mantelpiece, while Guest stood holding the door open, so as to admit a little light.
The next minute they were on the landing, and Stratton, with trembling fingers, carefully locked the door.
“Now,” said Guest, “about poor old Brettison? What do you say? Shall we give notice to the police?”
“No, no,” cried Stratton angrily. “It is absurd! He will come back some day. See me home, please, old fellow. My head—all confused and strange. I want to get back as soon as I can.”
Guest took his arm to the entrance of the inn, called a cab, and did not leave him till he was safe in his rooms at Sarum Street, after which the young barrister returned to his own chambers35 to think over the events of the evening in company with a pipe.
“Takes all the conceit36 out of a fellow,” he mused37, “to find what a lot of his old childish dread remains38 when he has grown up. Why, I felt then—Ugh! I’m ashamed to think of it all. Poor old Stratton! he doesn’t know what he’s about half his time. I believe he has got what the doctors call softening39 of the brain. Strikes me, after to-night’s work,” he added thoughtfully, “that I must have got it, too.”
He refilled his pipe and went on thinking.
“How he started, and how strange he seemed when I talked about the possibility of the poor old fellow lying there dead. Only a fancy of mine. How does the old saying go: ‘Fancy goes a great way’? There, I’ve had enough fancy for one night.”
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1
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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aberration
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| n.离开正路，脱离常规，色差 | |
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3
galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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5
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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6
intentional
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| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
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7
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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8
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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10
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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11
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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12
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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13
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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14
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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16
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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17
pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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18
prank
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| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
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19
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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20
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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21
succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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23
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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24
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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25
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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26
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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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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28
irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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29
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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30
holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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32
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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33
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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34
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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35
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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36
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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37
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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38
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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39
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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