It was never quite clear to me how Jim Shorthouse managed to get his private secretaryship; but, once he got it, he kept it, and for some years he led a steady life and put money in the savings2 bank.
One morning his employer sent for him into the study, and it was evident to the secretary's trained senses that there was something unusual in the air.
"Mr. Shorthouse," he began, somewhat nervously3, "I have never yet had the opportunity of observing whether or not you are possessed4 of personal courage."
Shorthouse gasped6, but he said nothing. He was growing accustomed to the eccentricities7 of his chief. Shorthouse was a Kentish man; Sidebotham was "raised" in Chicago; New York was the present place of residence.
"But," the other continued, with a puff8 at his very black cigar, "I must consider myself a poor judge of human nature in future, if it is not one of your strongest qualities."
The private secretary made a foolish little bow in modest appreciation9 of so uncertain a compliment. Mr. Jonas B. Sidebotham watched him narrowly, as the novelists say, before he continued his remarks.
"I have no doubt that you are a plucky10 fellow and—" He hesitated, and puffed11 at his cigar as if his life depended upon it keeping alight.
"I don't think I'm afraid of anything in particular, sir—except women," interposed the young man, feeling that it was time for him to make an observation of some sort, but still quite in the dark as to his chief's purpose.
"Humph!" he grunted12. "Well, there are no women in this case so far as I know. But there may be other things that—that hurt more."
"Wants a special service of some kind, evidently," was the secretary's reflection. "Personal violence?" he asked aloud.
"Possibly (puff), in fact (puff, puff) probably."
"I've had some experience of that article, sir," he said shortly; "but I'm ready to undertake anything in reason."
"I can't say how much reason or unreason there may prove to be in this particular case. It all depends."
Mr. Sidebotham got up and locked the door of his study and drew down the blinds of both windows. Then he took a bunch of keys from his pocket and opened a black tin box. He ferreted about among blue and white papers for a few seconds, enveloping15 himself as he did so in a cloud of blue tobacco smoke.
"I feel like a detective already," Shorthouse laughed.
"Speak low, please," returned the other, glancing round the room. "We must observe the utmost secrecy16. Perhaps you would be kind enough to close the registers," he went on in a still lower voice. "Open registers have betrayed conversations before now."
Shorthouse began to enter into the spirit of the thing. He tiptoed across the floor and shut the two iron gratings in the wall that in American houses supply hot air and are termed "registers." Mr. Sidebotham had meanwhile found the paper he was looking for. He held it in front of him and tapped it once or twice with the back of his right hand as if it were a stage letter and himself the villain17 of the melodrama18.
"This is a letter from Joel Garvey, my old partner," he said at length. "You have heard me speak of him."
The other bowed. He knew that many years before Garvey & Sidebotham had been well known in the Chicago financial world. He knew that the amazing rapidity with which they accumulated a fortune had only been surpassed by the amazing rapidity with which they had immediately afterwards disappeared into space. He was further aware—his position afforded facilities—that each partner was still to some extent in the other's power, and that each wished most devoutly20 that the other would die.
The sins of his employer's early years did not concern him, however. The man was kind and just, if eccentric; and Shorthouse, being in New York, did not probe to discover more particularly the sources whence his salary was so regularly paid. Moreover, the two men had grown to like each other and there was a genuine feeling of trust and respect between them.
"I hope it's a pleasant communication, sir," he said in a low voice.
"Quite the reverse," returned the other, fingering the paper nervously as he stood in front of the fire.
"Precisely22." Mr. Sidebotham's cigar was not burning well; he struck a match and applied23 it to the uneven24 edge, and presently his voice spoke25 through clouds of wreathing smoke.
"There are valuable papers in my possession bearing his signature. I cannot inform you of their nature; but they are extremely valuable to me. They belong, as a matter of fact, to Garvey as much as to me. Only I've got them—"
"I see."
"Garvey writes that he wants to have his signature removed—wants to cut it out with his own hand. He gives reasons which incline me to consider his request—"
"And you would like me to take him the papers and see that he does it?"
Shorthouse knew from unfortunate experience more than a little of the horrors of blackmail. The pressure Garvey was bringing to bear upon his old enemy must be exceedingly strong. That was quite clear. At the same time, the commission that was being entrusted28 to him seemed somewhat quixotic in its nature. He had already "enjoyed" more than one experience of his employer's eccentricity29, and he now caught himself wondering whether this same eccentricity did not sometimes go—further than eccentricity.
"I cannot read the letter to you," Mr. Sidebotham was explaining, "but I shall give it into your hands. It will prove that you are my—er—my accredited30 representative. I shall also ask you not to read the package of papers. The signature in question you will find, of course, on the last page, at the bottom."
There was a pause of several minutes during which the end of the cigar glowed eloquently31.
"Circumstances compel me," he went on at length almost in a whisper, "or I should never do this. But you understand, of course, the thing is a ruse32. Cutting out the signature is a mere33 pretence34. It is nothing. What Garvey wants are the papers themselves."
The confidence reposed35 in the private secretary was not misplaced. Shorthouse was as faithful to Mr. Sidebotham as a man ought to be to the wife that loves him.
The commission itself seemed very simple. Garvey lived in solitude36 in the remote part of Long Island. Shorthouse was to take the papers to him, witness the cutting out of the signature, and to be specially37 on his guard against any attempt, forcible or otherwise, to gain possession of them. It seemed to him a somewhat ludicrous adventure, but he did not know all the facts and perhaps was not the best judge.
The two men talked in low voices for another hour, at the end of which Mr. Sidebotham drew up the blinds, opened the registers and unlocked the door.
Shorthouse rose to go. His pockets were stuffed with papers and his head with instructions; but when he reached the door he hesitated and turned.
"Well?" said his chief.
Shorthouse looked him straight in the eye and said nothing.
"The personal violence, I suppose?" said the other. Shorthouse bowed.
"I have not seen Garvey for twenty years," he said; "all I can tell you is that I believe him to be occasionally of unsound mind. I have heard strange rumours38. He lives alone, and in his lucid39 intervals40 studies chemistry. It was always a hobby of his. But the chances are twenty to one against his attempting violence. I only wished to warn you—in case—I mean, so that you may be on the watch."
He handed his secretary a Smith and Wesson revolver as he spoke. Shorthouse slipped it into his hip1 pocket and went out of the room.
A drizzling41 cold rain was falling on fields covered with half-melted snow when Shorthouse stood, late in the afternoon, on the platform of the lonely little Long Island station and watched the train he had just left vanish into the distance.
It was a bleak42 country that Joel Garvey, Esq., formerly43 of Chicago, had chosen for his residence and on this particular afternoon it presented a more than usually dismal44 appearance. An expanse of flat fields covered with dirty snow stretched away on all sides till the sky dropped down to meet them. Only occasional farm buildings broke the monotony, and the road wound along muddy lanes and beneath dripping trees swathed in the cold raw fog that swept in like a pall45 of the dead from the sea.
It was six miles from the station to Garvey's house, and the driver of the rickety buggy Shorthouse had found at the station was not communicative. Between the dreary46 landscape and the drearier47 driver he fell back upon his own thoughts, which, but for the spice of adventure that was promised, would themselves have been even drearier than either. He made up his mind that he would waste no time over the transaction. The moment the signature was cut out he would pack up and be off. The last train back to Brooklyn was 7.15; and he would have to walk the six miles of mud and snow, for the driver of the buggy had refused point-blank to wait for him.
For purposes of safety, Shorthouse had done what he flattered himself was rather a clever thing. He had made up a second packet of papers identical in outside appearance with the first. The inscription49, the blue envelope, the red elastic50 band, and even a blot51 in the lower left-hand corner had been exactly reproduced. Inside, of course, were only sheets of blank paper. It was his intention to change the packets and to let Garvey see him put the sham52 one into the bag. In case of violence the bag would be the point of attack, and he intended to lock it and throw away the key. Before it could be forced open and the deception53 discovered there would be time to increase his chances of escape with the real packet.
It was five o'clock when the silent Jehu pulled up in front of a half-broken gate and pointed54 with his whip to a house that stood in its own grounds among trees and was just visible in the gathering55 gloom. Shorthouse told him to drive up to the front door but the man refused.
"I ain't runnin' no risks," he said; "I've got a family."
This cryptic56 remark was not encouraging, but Shorthouse did not pause to decipher it. He paid the man, and then pushed open the rickety old gate swinging on a single hinge, and proceeded to walk up the drive that lay dark between close-standing57 trees. The house soon came into full view. It was tall and square and had once evidently been white, but now the walls were covered with dirty patches and there were wide yellow streaks58 where the plaster had fallen away. The windows stared black and uncompromising into the night. The garden was overgrown with weeds and long grass, standing up in ugly patches beneath their burden of wet snow. Complete silence reigned59 over all. There was not a sign of life. Not even a dog barked. Only, in the distance, the wheels of the retreating carriage could be heard growing fainter and fainter.
As he stood in the porch, between pillars of rotting wood, listening to the rain dripping from the roof into the puddles60 of slushy snow, he was conscious of a sensation of utter desertion and loneliness such as he had never before experienced. The forbidding aspect of the house had the immediate19 effect of lowering his spirits. It might well have been the abode61 of monsters or demons62 in a child's wonder tale, creatures that only dared to come out under cover of darkness. He groped for the bell-handle, or knocker, and finding neither, he raised his stick and beat a loud tattoo63 on the door. The sound echoed away in an empty space on the other side and the wind moaned past him between the pillars as if startled at his audacity64. But there was no sound of approaching footsteps and no one came to open the door. Again he beat a tattoo, louder and longer than the first one; and, having done so, waited with his back to the house and stared across the unkempt garden into the fast gathering shadows.
Then he turned suddenly, and saw that the door was standing ajar. It had been quietly opened and a pair of eyes were peering at him round the edge. There was no light in the hall beyond and he could only just make out the shape of a dim human face.
"Does Mr. Garvey live here?" he asked in a firm voice.
"Who are you?" came in a man's tones.
"I'm Mr. Sidebotham's private secretary. I wish to see Mr. Garvey on important business."
"Are you expected?"
"I suppose so," he said impatiently, thrusting a card through the opening. "Please take my name to him at once, and say I come from Mr. Sidebotham on the matter Mr. Garvey wrote about."
The man took the card, and the face vanished into the darkness, leaving Shorthouse standing in the cold porch with mingled65 feelings of impatience66 and dismay. The door, he now noticed for the first time, was on a chain and could not open more than a few inches. But it was the manner of his reception that caused uneasy reflections to stir within him—reflections that continued for some minutes before they were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps and the flicker67 of a light in the hall.
The next instant the chain fell with a rattle68, and gripping his bag tightly, he walked into a large ill-smelling hall of which he could only just see the ceiling. There was no light but the nickering taper69 held by the man, and by its uncertain glimmer70 Shorthouse turned to examine him. He saw an undersized man of middle age with brilliant, shifting eyes, a curling black beard, and a nose that at once proclaimed him a Jew. His shoulders were bent71, and, as he watched him replacing the chain, he saw that he wore a peculiar72 black gown like a priest's cassock reaching to the feet. It was altogether a lugubrious73 figure of a man, sinister74 and funereal75, yet it seemed in perfect harmony with the general character of its surroundings. The hall was devoid76 of furniture of any kind, and against the dingy77 walls stood rows of old picture frames, empty and disordered, and odd-looking bits of wood-work that appeared doubly fantastic as their shadows danced queerly over the floor in the shifting light.
"If you'll come this way, Mr. Garvey will see you presently," said the Jew gruffly, crossing the floor and shielding the taper with a bony hand. He never once raised his eyes above the level of the visitor's waistcoat, and, to Shorthouse, he somehow suggested a figure from the dead rather than a man of flesh and blood. The hall smelt decidedly ill.
All the more surprising, then, was the scene that met his eyes when the Jew opened the door at the further end and he entered a room brilliantly lit with swinging lamps and furnished with a degree of taste and comfort that amounted to luxury. The walls were lined with handsomely bound books, and armchairs were arranged round a large mahogany desk in the middle of the room. A bright fire burned in the grate and neatly79 framed photographs of men and women stood on the mantelpiece on either side of an elaborately carved clock. French windows that opened like doors were partially80 concealed81 by warm red curtains, and on a sideboard against the wall stood decanters and glasses, with several boxes of cigars piled on top of one another. There was a pleasant odour of tobacco about the room. Indeed, it was in such glowing contrast to the chilly82 poverty of the hall that Shorthouse already was conscious of a distinct rise in the thermometer of his spirits.
Then he turned and saw the Jew standing in the doorway83 with his eyes fixed84 upon him, somewhere about the middle button of his waistcoat. He presented a strangely repulsive85 appearance that somehow could not be attributed to any particular detail, and the secretary associated him in his mind with a monstrous86 black bird of prey87 more than anything else.
A strange flicker of a smile appeared on the Jew's ugly face and vanished as quickly as it came. He made a sort of deprecating bow by way of reply. Then he blew out the taper and went out, closing the door noiselessly behind him.
Shorthouse was alone. He felt relieved. There was an air of obsequious89 insolence90 about the old Jew that was very offensive. He began to take note of his surroundings. He was evidently in the library of the house, for the walls were covered with books almost up to the ceiling. There was no room for pictures. Nothing but the shining backs of well-bound volumes looked down upon him. Four brilliant lights hung from the ceiling and a reading lamp with a polished reflector stood among the disordered masses of papers on the desk.
The lamp was not lit, but when Shorthouse put his hand upon it he found it was warm. The room had evidently only just been vacated.
Apart from the testimony91 of the lamp, however, he had already felt, without being able to give a reason for it, that the room had been occupied a few moments before he entered. The atmosphere over the desk seemed to retain the disturbing influence of a human being; an influence, moreover, so recent that he felt as if the cause of it were still in his immediate neighbourhood. It was difficult to realise that he was quite alone in the room and that somebody was not in hiding. The finer counterparts of his senses warned him to act as if he were being observed; he was dimly conscious of a desire to fidget and look round, to keep his eyes in every part of the room at once, and to conduct himself generally as if he were the object of careful human observation.
How far he recognised the cause of these sensations it is impossible to say; but they were sufficiently92 marked to prevent his carrying out a strong inclination93 to get up and make a search of the room. He sat quite still, staring alternately at the backs of the books, and at the red curtains; wondering all the time if he was really being watched, or if it was only the imagination playing tricks with him.
A full quarter of an hour passed, and then twenty rows of volumes suddenly shifted out towards him, and he saw that a door had opened in the wall opposite. The books were only sham backs after all, and when they moved back again with the sliding door, Shorthouse saw the figure of Joel Garvey standing before him.
Surprise almost took his breath away. He had expected to see an unpleasant, even a vicious apparition94 with the mark of the beast unmistakably upon its face; but he was wholly unprepared for the elderly, tall, fine-looking man who stood in front of him—well-groomed, refined, vigorous, with a lofty forehead, clear grey eyes, and a hooked nose dominating a clean shaven mouth and chin of considerable character—a distinguished95 looking man altogether.
"I'm afraid I've kept you waiting, Mr. Shorthouse," he said in a pleasant voice, but with no trace of a smile in the mouth or eyes. "But the fact is, you know, I've a mania96 for chemistry, and just when you were announced I was at the most critical moment of a problem and was really compelled to bring it to a conclusion."
Shorthouse had risen to meet him, but the other motioned him to resume his seat. It was borne in upon him irresistibly97 that Mr. Joel Garvey, for reasons best known to himself, was deliberately98 lying, and he could not help wondering at the necessity for such an elaborate misrepresentation. He took off his overcoat and sat down.
"I've no doubt, too, that the door startled you," Garvey went on, evidently reading something of his guest's feelings in his face. "You probably had not suspected it. It leads into my little laboratory. Chemistry is an absorbing study to me, and I spend most of my time there." Mr. Garvey moved up to the armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace and sat down.
Shorthouse made appropriate answers to these remarks, but his mind was really engaged in taking stock of Mr. Sidebotham's old-time partner. So far there was no sign of mental irregularity and there was certainly nothing about him to suggest violent wrong-doing or coarseness of living. On the whole, Mr. Sidebotham's secretary was most pleasantly surprised, and, wishing to conclude his business as speedily as possible, he made a motion towards the bag for the purpose of opening it, when his companion interrupted him quickly—
"You are Mr. Sidebotham's private secretary, are you not?" he asked.
Shorthouse replied that he was. "Mr. Sidebotham," he went on to explain, "has entrusted me with the papers in the case and I have the honour to return to you your letter of a week ago." He handed the letter to Garvey, who took it without a word and deliberately placed it in the fire. He was not aware that the secretary was ignorant of its contents, yet his face betrayed no signs of feeling. Shorthouse noticed, however, that his eyes never left the fire until the last morsel99 had been consumed. Then he looked up and said, "You are familiar then with the facts of this most peculiar case?"
Shorthouse saw no reason to confess his ignorance.
"I have all the papers, Mr. Garvey," he replied, taking them out of the bag, "and I should be very glad if we could transact48 our business as speedily as possible. If you will cut out your signature I—"
"One moment, please," interrupted the other. "I must, before we proceed further, consult some papers in my laboratory. If you will allow me to leave you alone a few minutes for this purpose we can conclude the whole matter in a very short time."
Shorthouse did not approve of this further delay, but he had no option than to acquiesce100, and when Garvey had left the room by the private door he sat and waited with the papers in his hand. The minutes went by and the other did not return. To pass the time he thought of taking the false packet from his coat to see that the papers were in order, and the move was indeed almost completed, when something—he never knew what—warned him to desist. The feeling again came over him that he was being watched, and he leaned back in his chair with the bag on his knees and waited with considerable impatience for the other's return. For more than twenty minutes he waited, and when at length the door opened and Garvey appeared, with profuse101 apologies for the delay, he saw by the clock that only a few minutes still remained of the time he had allowed himself to catch the last train.
"Now I am completely at your service," he said pleasantly; "you must, of course, know, Mr. Shorthouse, that one cannot be too careful in matters of this kind—especially," he went on, speaking very slowly and impressively, "in dealing102 with a man like my former partner, whose mind, as you doubtless may have discovered, is at times very sadly affected103."
Shorthouse made no reply to this. He felt that the other was watching him as a cat watches a mouse.
"It is almost a wonder to me," Garvey added, "that he is still at large. Unless he has greatly improved it can hardly be safe for those who are closely associated with him."
The other began to feel uncomfortable. Either this was the other side of the story, or it was the first signs of mental irresponsibility.
"All business matters of importance require the utmost care in my opinion, Mr. Garvey," he said at length, cautiously.
"Ah! then, as I thought, you have had a great deal to put up with from him," Garvey said, with his eyes fixed on his companion's face. "And, no doubt, he is still as bitter against me as he was years ago when the disease first showed itself?"
Although this last remark was a deliberate question and the questioner was waiting with fixed eyes for an answer, Shorthouse elected to take no notice of it. Without a word he pulled the elastic band from the blue envelope with a snap and plainly showed his desire to conclude the business as soon as possible. The tendency on the other's part to delay did not suit him at all.
"But never personal violence, I trust, Mr. Shorthouse," he added.
"Never."
"I'm glad to hear it," Garvey said in a sympathetic voice, "very glad to hear it. And now," he went on, "if you are ready we can transact this little matter of business before dinner. It will only take a moment."
He drew a chair up to the desk and sat down, taking a pair of scissors from a drawer. His companion approached with the papers in his hand, unfolding them as he came. Garvey at once took them from him, and after turning over a few pages he stopped and cut out a piece of writing at the bottom of the last sheet but one.
Holding it up to him Shorthouse read the words "Joel Garvey" in faded ink.
"There! That's my signature," he said, "and I've cut it out. It must be nearly twenty years since I wrote it, and now I'm going to burn it."
He went to the fire and stooped over to burn the little slip of paper, and while he watched it being consumed Shorthouse put the real papers in his pocket and slipped the imitation ones into the bag. Garvey turned just in time to see this latter movement.
"I'm putting the papers back," Shorthouse said quietly; "you've done with them, I think."
"Certainly," he replied as, completely deceived, he saw the blue envelope disappear into the black bag and watched Shorthouse turn the key. "They no longer have the slightest interest for me." As he spoke he moved over to the sideboard, and pouring himself out a small glass of whisky asked his visitor if he might do the same for him. But the visitor declined and was already putting on his overcoat when Garvey turned with genuine surprise on his face.
"You surely are not going back to New York to-night, Mr. Shorthouse?" he said, in a voice of astonishment104.
"I've just time to catch the 7.15 if I'm quick."
"But I never heard of such a thing," Garvey said. "Of course I took it for granted that you would stay the night."
"It's kind of you," said Shorthouse, "but really I must return to-night. I never expected to stay."
The two men stood facing each other. Garvey pulled out his watch.
"I'm exceedingly sorry," he said; "but, upon my word, I took it for granted you would stay. I ought to have said so long ago. I'm such a lonely fellow and so little accustomed to visitors that I fear I forgot my manners altogether. But in any case, Mr. Shorthouse, you cannot catch the 7.15, for it's already after six o'clock, and that's the last train to-night." Garvey spoke very quickly, almost eagerly, but his voice sounded genuine.
"There's time if I walk quickly," said the young man with decision, moving towards the door. He glanced at his watch as he went. Hitherto he had gone by the clock on the mantelpiece. To his dismay he saw that it was, as his host had said, long after six. The clock was half an hour slow, and he realised at once that it was no longer possible to catch the train.
Had the hands of the clock been moved back intentionally105? Had he been purposely detained? Unpleasant thoughts flashed into his brain and made him hesitate before taking the next step. His employer's warning rang in his ears. The alternative was six miles along a lonely road in the dark, or a night under Garvey's roof. The former seemed a direct invitation to catastrophe106, if catastrophe there was planned to be. The latter—well, the choice was certainly small. One thing, however, he realised, was plain—he must show neither fear nor hesitancy.
"My watch must have gained," he observed quietly, turning the hands back without looking up. "It seems I have certainly missed that train and shall be obliged to throw myself upon your hospitality. But, believe me, I had no intention of putting you out to any such extent."
"I'm delighted," the other said. "Defer107 to the judgment108 of an older man and make yourself comfortable for the night. There's a bitter storm outside, and you don't put me out at all. On the contrary it's a great pleasure. I have so little contact with the outside world that it's really a god-send to have you."
The man's face changed as he spoke. His manner was cordial and sincere. Shorthouse began to feel ashamed of his doubts and to read between the lines of his employer's warning. He took off his coat and the two men moved to the armchairs beside the fire.
"You see," Garvey went on in a lowered voice, "I understand your hesitancy perfectly. I didn't know Sidebotham all those years without knowing a good deal about him—perhaps more than you do. I've no doubt, now, he filled your mind with all sorts of nonsense about me—probably told you that I was the greatest villain unhung, eh? and all that sort of thing? Poor fellow! He was a fine sort before his mind became unhinged. One of his fancies used to be that everybody else was insane, or just about to become insane. Is he still as bad as that?"
"Few men," replied Shorthouse, with the manner of making a great confidence, but entirely109 refusing to be drawn110, "go through his experiences and reach his age without entertaining delusions111 of one kind or another."
"Perfectly true," said Garvey. "Your observation is evidently keen."
"Very keen indeed," Shorthouse replied, taking his cue neatly; "but, of course, there are some things"—and here he looked cautiously over his shoulder—"there are some things one cannot talk about too circumspectly112."
"I understand perfectly and respect your reserve."
There was a little more conversation and then Garvey got up and excused himself on the plea of superintending the preparation of the bedroom.
"It's quite an event to have a visitor in the house, and I want to make you as comfortable as possible," he said. "Marx will do better for a little supervision113. And," he added with a laugh as he stood in the doorway, "I want you to carry back a good account to Sidebotham."
II
The tall form disappeared and the door was shut. The conversation of the past few minutes had come somewhat as a revelation to the secretary. Garvey seemed in full possession of normal instincts. There was no doubt as to the sincerity114 of his manner and intentions. The suspicions of the first hour began to vanish like mist before the sun. Sidebotham's portentous115 warnings and the mystery with which he surrounded the whole episode had been allowed to unduly116 influence his mind. The loneliness of the situation and the bleak nature of the surroundings had helped to complete the illusion. He began to be ashamed of his suspicions and a change commenced gradually to be wrought117 in his thoughts. Anyhow a dinner and a bed were preferable to six miles in the dark, no dinner, and a cold train into the bargain.
Garvey returned presently. "We'll do the best we can for you," he said, dropping into the deep armchair on the other side of the fire. "Marx is a good servant if you watch him all the time. You must always stand over a Jew, though, if you want things done properly. They're tricky118 and uncertain unless they're working for their own interest. But Marx might be worse, I'll admit. He's been with me for nearly twenty years—cook, valet, housemaid, and butler all in one. In the old days, you know, he was a clerk in our office in Chicago."
Garvey rattled119 on and Shorthouse listened with occasional remarks thrown in. The former seemed pleased to have somebody to talk to and the sound of his own voice was evidently sweet music in his ears. After a few minutes, he crossed over to the sideboard and again took up the decanter of whisky, holding it to the light. "You will join me this time," he said pleasantly, pouring out two glasses, "it will give us an appetite for dinner," and this time Shorthouse did not refuse. The liquor was mellow120 and soft and the men took two glasses apiece.
"Excellent," remarked the secretary.
"Glad you appreciate it," said the host, smacking121 his lips. "It's very old whisky, and I rarely touch it when I'm alone. But this," he added, "is a special occasion, isn't it?"
Shorthouse was in the act of putting his glass down when something drew his eyes suddenly to the other's face. A strange note in the man's voice caught his attention and communicated alarm to his nerves. A new light shone in Garvey's eyes and there flitted momentarily across his strong features the shadow of something that set the secretary's nerves tingling122. A mist spread before his eyes and the unaccountable belief rose strong in him that he was staring into the visage of an untamed animal. Close to his heart there was something that was wild, fierce, savage123. An involuntary shiver ran over him and seemed to dispel124 the strange fancy as suddenly as it had come. He met the other's eye with a smile, the counterpart of which in his heart was vivid horror.
"It is a special occasion," he said, as naturally as possible, "and, allow me to add, very special whisky."
Garvey appeared delighted. He was in the middle of a devious125 tale describing how the whisky came originally into his possession when the door opened behind them and a grating voice announced that dinner was ready. They followed the cassocked form of Marx across the dirty hall, lit only by the shaft126 of light that followed them from the library door, and entered a small room where a single lamp stood upon a table laid for dinner. The walls were destitute127 of pictures, and the windows had Venetian blinds without curtains. There was no fire in the grate, and when the men sat down facing each other Shorthouse noticed that, while his own cover was laid with its due proportion of glasses and cutlery, his companion had nothing before him but a soup plate, without fork, knife, or spoon beside it.
"I don't know what there is to offer you," he said; "but I'm sure Marx has done the best he can at such short notice. I only eat one course for dinner, but pray take your time and enjoy your food."
Marx presently set a plate of soup before the guest, yet so loathsome128 was the immediate presence of this old Hebrew servitor, that the spoonfuls disappeared somewhat slowly. Garvey sat and watched him.
Shorthouse said the soup was delicious and bravely swallowed another mouthful. In reality his thoughts were centred upon his companion, whose manners were giving evidence of a gradual and curious change. There was a decided78 difference in his demeanour, a difference that the secretary felt at first, rather than saw. Garvey's quiet self-possession was giving place to a degree of suppressed excitement that seemed so far inexplicable129. His movements became quick and nervous, his eye shifting and strangely brilliant, and his voice, when he spoke, betrayed an occasional deep tremor130. Something unwonted was stirring within him and evidently demanding every moment more vigorous manifestation131 as the meal proceeded.
Intuitively Shorthouse was afraid of this growing excitement, and while negotiating some uncommonly132 tough pork chops he tried to lead the conversation on to the subject of chemistry, of which in his Oxford133 days he had been an enthusiastic student. His companion, however, would none of it. It seemed to have lost interest for him, and he would barely condescend134 to respond. When Marx presently returned with a plate of steaming eggs and bacon the subject dropped of its own accord.
"An inadequate135 dinner dish," Garvey said, as soon as the man was gone; "but better than nothing, I hope."
Shorthouse remarked that he was exceedingly fond of bacon and eggs, and, looking up with the last word, saw that Garvey's face was twitching136 convulsively and that he was almost wriggling138 in his chair. He quieted down, however, under the secretary's gaze and observed, though evidently with an effort—
"Very good of you to say so. Wish I could join you, only I never eat such stuff. I only take one course for dinner."
Shorthouse began to feel some curiosity as to what the nature of this one course might be, but he made no further remark and contented139 himself with noting mentally that his companion's excitement seemed to be rapidly growing beyond his control. There was something uncanny about it, and he began to wish he had chosen the alternative of the walk to the station.
"I'm glad to see you never speak when Marx is in the room," said Garvey presently. "I'm sure it's better not. Don't you think so?"
He appeared to wait eagerly for the answer.
"Undoubtedly," said the puzzled secretary.
"Yes," the other went on quickly. "He's an excellent man, but he has one drawback—a really horrid140 one. You may—but, no, you could hardly have noticed it yet."
"Not drink, I trust," said Shorthouse, who would rather have discussed any other subject than the odious141 Jew.
"Worse than that a great deal," Garvey replied, evidently expecting the other to draw him out. But Shorthouse was in no mood to hear anything horrible, and he declined to step into the trap.
"The best of servants have their faults," he said coldly.
"I'll tell you what it is if you like," Garvey went on, still speaking very low and leaning forward over the table so that his face came close to the flame of the lamp, "only we must speak quietly in case he's listening. I'll tell you what it is—if you think you won't be frightened."
"Nothing frightens me," he laughed. (Garvey must understand that at all events.) "Nothing can frighten me," he repeated.
"I'm glad of that; for it frightens me a good deal sometimes."
Shorthouse feigned142 indifference143. Yet he was aware that his heart was beating a little quicker and that there was a sensation of chilliness144 in his back. He waited in silence for what was to come.
"He has a horrible predilection145 for vacuums," Garvey went on presently in a still lower voice and thrusting his face farther forward under the lamp.
"Vacuums!" exclaimed the secretary in spite of himself. "What in the world do you mean?"
"What I say of course. He's always tumbling into them, so that I can't find him or get at him. He hides there for hours at a time, and for the life of me I can't make out what he does there."
Shorthouse stared his companion straight in the eyes. What in the name of Heaven was he talking about?
"Do you suppose he goes there for a change of air, or—or to escape?" he went on in a louder voice.
"I should not think there was much air of any sort in a vacuum," he said quietly.
"That's exactly what I feel," continued Garvey with ever growing excitement. "That's the horrid part of it. How the devil does he live there? You see—"
"Have you ever followed him there?" interrupted the secretary. The other leaned back in his chair and drew a deep sigh.
"Never! It's impossible. You see I can't follow him. There's not room for two. A vacuum only holds one comfortably. Marx knows that. He's out of my reach altogether once he's fairly inside. He knows the best side of a bargain. He's a regular Jew."
"That is a drawback to a servant, of course—" Shorthouse spoke slowly, with his eyes on his plate.
"A drawback," interrupted the other with an ugly chuckle147, "I call it a draw-in, that's what I call it."
"A draw-in does seem a more accurate term," assented148 Shorthouse. "But," he went on, "I thought that nature abhorred150 a vacuum. She used to, when I was at school—though perhaps—it's so long ago—"
He hesitated and looked up. Something in Garvey's face—something he had felt before he looked up—stopped his tongue and froze the words in his throat. His lips refused to move and became suddenly dry. Again the mist rose before his eyes and the appalling151 shadow dropped its veil over the face before him. Garvey's features began to burn and glow. Then they seemed to coarsen and somehow slip confusedly together. He stared for a second—it seemed only for a second—into the visage of a ferocious152 and abominable153 animal; and then, as suddenly as it had come, the filthy154 shadow of the beast passed off, the mist melted out, and with a mighty155 effort over his nerves he forced himself to finish his sentence.
"You see it's so long since I've given attention to such things," he stammered156. His heart was beating rapidly, and a feeling of oppression was gathering over it.
"It's my peculiar and special study on the other hand," Garvey resumed. "I've not spent all these years in my laboratory to no purpose, I can assure you. Nature, I know for a fact," he added with unnatural157 warmth, "does not abhor149 a vacuum. On the contrary, she's uncommonly fond of 'em, much too fond, it seems, for the comfort of my little household. If there were fewer vacuums and more abhorrence158 we should get on better—a damned sight better in my opinion."
"Your special knowledge, no doubt, enables you to speak with authority," Shorthouse said, curiosity and alarm warring with other mixed feelings in his mind; "but how can a man tumble into a vacuum?"
"You may well ask. That's just it. How can he? It's preposterous159 and I can't make it out at all. Marx knows, but he won't tell me. Jews know more than we do. For my part I have reason to believe—" He stopped and listened. "Hush160! here he comes," he added, rubbing his hands together as if in glee and fidgeting in his chair.
Steps were heard coming down the passage, and as they approached the door Garvey seemed to give himself completely over to an excitement he could not control. His eyes were fixed on the door and he began clutching the tablecloth161 with both hands. Again his face was screened by the loathsome shadow. It grew wild, wolfish. As through a mask, that concealed, and yet was thin enough to let through a suggestion of, the beast crouching162 behind, there leaped into his countenance164 the strange look of the animal in the human—the expression of the were-wolf, the monster. The change in all its loathsomeness165 came rapidly over his features, which began to lose their outline. The nose flattened166, dropping with broad nostrils167 over thick lips. The face rounded, filled, and became squat168. The eyes, which, luckily for Shorthouse, no longer sought his own, glowed with the light of untamed appetite and bestial169 greed. The hands left the cloth and grasped the edges of the plate, and then clutched the cloth again.
"This is my course coming now," said Garvey, in a deep guttural voice. He was shivering. His upper lip was partly lifted and showed the teeth, white and gleaming.
A moment later the door opened and Marx hurried into the room and set a dish in front of his master. Garvey half rose to meet him, stretching out his hands and grinning horribly. With his mouth he made a sound like the snarl170 of an animal. The dish before him was steaming, but the slight vapour rising from it betrayed by its odour that it was not born of a fire of coals. It was the natural heat of flesh warmed by the fires of life only just expelled. The moment the dish rested on the table Garvey pushed away his own plate and drew the other up close under his mouth. Then he seized the food in both hands and commenced to tear it with his teeth, grunting171 as he did so. Shorthouse closed his eyes, with a feeling of nausea172. When he looked up again the lips and jaw173 of the man opposite were stained with crimson174. The whole man was transformed. A feasting tiger, starved and ravenous175, but without a tiger's grace—this was what he watched for several minutes, transfixed with horror and disgust.
Marx had already taken his departure, knowing evidently what was not good for the eyes to look upon, and Shorthouse knew at last that he was sitting face to face with a madman.
The ghastly meal was finished in an incredibly short time and nothing was left but a tiny pool of red liquid rapidly hardening. Garvey leaned back heavily in his chair and sighed. His smeared176 face, withdrawn177 now from the glare of the lamp, began to resume its normal appearance. Presently he looked up at his guest and said in his natural voice—
"I hope you've had enough to eat. You wouldn't care for this, you know," with a downward glance.
Shorthouse met his eyes with an inward loathing178, and it was impossible not to show some of the repugnance179 he felt. In the other's face, however, he thought he saw a subdued180, cowed expression. But he found nothing to say.
"Marx will be in presently," Garvey went on. "He's either listening, or in a vacuum."
"Does he choose any particular time for his visits?" the secretary managed to ask.
"He generally goes after dinner; just about this time, in fact. But he's not gone yet," he added, shrugging his shoulders, "for I think I hear him coming."
Shorthouse wondered whether vacuum was possibly synonymous with wine cellar, but gave no expression to his thoughts. With chills of horror still running up and down his back, he saw Marx come in with a basin and towel, while Garvey thrust up his face just as an animal puts up its muzzle181 to be rubbed.
"Now we'll have coffee in the library, if you're ready," he said, in the tone of a gentleman addressing his guests after a dinner party.
Shorthouse picked up the bag, which had lain all this time between his feet, and walked through the door his host held open for him. Side by side they crossed the dark hall together, and, to his disgust, Garvey linked an arm in his, and with his face so close to the secretary's ear that he felt the warm breath, said in a thick voice—
"You're uncommonly careful with that bag, Mr. Shorthouse. It surely must contain something more than the bundle of papers."
"Nothing but the papers," he answered, feeling the hand burning upon his arm and wishing he were miles away from the house and its abominable occupants.
"Quite sure?" asked the other with an odious and suggestive chuckle. "Is there any meat in it, fresh meat—raw meat?"
The secretary felt, somehow, that at the least sign of fear the beast on his arm would leap upon him and tear him with his teeth.
"Nothing of the sort," he answered vigorously. "It wouldn't hold enough to feed a cat."
"True," said Garvey with a vile182 sigh, while the other felt the hand upon his arm twitch137 up and down as if feeling the flesh. "True, it's too small to be of any real use. As you say, it wouldn't hold enough to feed a cat."
Shorthouse was unable to suppress a cry. The muscles of his fingers, too, relaxed in spite of himself and he let the black bag drop with a bang to the floor. Garvey instantly withdrew his arm and turned with a quick movement. But the secretary had regained183 his control as suddenly as he had lost it, and he met the maniac184's eyes with a steady and aggressive glare.
"There, you see, it's quite light. It makes no appreciable185 noise when I drop it." He picked it up and let it fall again, as if he had dropped it for the first time purposely. The ruse was successful.
"Yes. You're right," Garvey said, still standing in the doorway and staring at him. "At any rate it wouldn't hold enough for two," he laughed. And as he closed the door the horrid laughter echoed in the empty hall.
They sat down by a blazing fire and Shorthouse was glad to feel its warmth. Marx presently brought in coffee. A glass of the old whisky and a good cigar helped to restore equilibrium186. For some minutes the men sat in silence staring into the fire. Then, without looking up, Garvey said in a quiet voice—
"I suppose it was a shock to you to see me eat raw meat like that. I must apologise if it was unpleasant to you. But it's all I can eat and it's the only meal I take in the twenty-four hours."
"Best nourishment187 in the world, no doubt; though I should think it might be a trifle strong for some stomachs."
He tried to lead the conversation away from so unpleasant a subject, and went on to talk rapidly of the values of different foods, of vegetarianism188 and vegetarians189, and of men who had gone for long periods without any food at all. Garvey listened apparently190 without interest and had nothing to say. At the first pause he jumped in eagerly.
"When the hunger is really great on me," he said, still gazing into the fire, "I simply cannot control myself. I must have raw meat—the first I can get—" Here he raised his shining eyes and Shorthouse felt his hair beginning to rise.
"It comes upon me so suddenly too. I never can tell when to expect it. A year ago the passion rose in me like a whirlwind and Marx was out and I couldn't get meat. I had to get something or I should have bitten myself. Just when it was getting unbearable191 my dog ran out from beneath the sofa. It was a spaniel."
Shorthouse responded with an effort. He hardly knew what he was saying and his skin crawled as if a million ants were moving over it.
There was a pause of several minutes.
"I've bitten Marx all over," Garvey went on presently in his strange quiet voice, and as if he were speaking of apples; "but he's bitter. I doubt if the hunger could ever make me do it again. Probably that's what first drove him to take shelter in a vacuum." He chuckled192 hideously193 as he thought of this solution of his attendant's disappearances195.
Shorthouse seized the poker196 and poked197 the fire as if his life depended on it. But when the banging and clattering198 was over Garvey continued his remarks with the same calmness. The next sentence, however, was never finished. The secretary had got upon his feet suddenly.
"I shall ask your permission to retire," he said in a determined199 voice; "I'm tired to-night; will you be good enough to show me to my room?"
Garvey looked up at him with a curious cringing200 expression behind which there shone the gleam of cunning passion.
"Certainly," he said, rising from his chair. "You've had a tiring journey. I ought to have thought of that before."
He took the candle from the table and lit it, and the fingers that held the match trembled.
"We needn't trouble Marx," he explained. "That beast's in his vacuum by this time."
III
They crossed the hall and began to ascend201 the carpetless wooden stairs. They were in the well of the house and the air cut like ice. Garvey, the flickering202 candle in his hand throwing his face into strong outline, led the way across the first landing and opened a door near the mouth of a dark passage. A pleasant room greeted the visitor's eyes, and he rapidly took in its points while his host walked over and lit two candles that stood on a table at the foot of the bed. A fire burned brightly in the grate. There were two windows, opening like doors, in the wall opposite, and a high canopied203 bed occupied most of the space on the right. Panelling ran all round the room reaching nearly to the ceiling and gave a warm and cosy204 appearance to the whole; while the portraits that stood in alternate panels suggested somehow the atmosphere of an old country house in England. Shorthouse was agreeably surprised.
"I hope you'll find everything you need," Garvey was saying in the doorway. "If not, you have only to ring that bell by the fireplace. Marx won't hear it of course, but it rings in my laboratory, where I spend most of the night."
Then, with a brief good-night, he went out and shut the door after him. The instant he was gone Mr. Sidebotham's private secretary did a peculiar thing. He planted himself in the middle of the room with his back to the door, and drawing the pistol swiftly from his hip pocket levelled it across his left arm at the window. Standing motionless in this position for thirty seconds he then suddenly swerved205 right round and faced in the other direction, pointing his pistol straight at the keyhole of the door. There followed immediately a sound of shuffling206 outside and of steps retreating across the landing.
"On his knees at the keyhole," was the secretary's reflection. "Just as I thought. But he didn't expect to look down the barrel of a pistol and it made him jump a little."
As soon as the steps had gone downstairs and died away across the hall, Shorthouse went over and locked the door, stuffing a piece of crumpled207 paper into the second keyhole which he saw immediately above the first. After that, he made a thorough search of the room. It hardly repaid the trouble, for he found nothing unusual. Yet he was glad he had made it. It relieved him to find no one was in hiding under the bed or in the deep oak cupboard; and he hoped sincerely it was not the cupboard in which the unfortunate spaniel had come to its vile death. The French windows, he discovered, opened on to a little balcony. It looked on to the front, and there was a drop of less than twenty feet to the ground below. The bed was high and wide, soft as feathers and covered with snowy sheets—very inviting208 to a tired man; and beside the blazing fire were a couple of deep armchairs.
Altogether it was very pleasant and comfortable; but, tired though he was, Shorthouse had no intention of going to bed. It was impossible to disregard the warning of his nerves. They had never failed him before, and when that sense of distressing209 horror lodged210 in his bones he knew there was something in the wind and that a red flag was flying over the immediate future. Some delicate instrument in his being, more subtle than the senses, more accurate than mere presentiment211, had seen the red flag and interpreted its meaning.
Again it seemed to him, as he sat in an armchair over the fire, that his movements were being carefully watched from somewhere; and, not knowing what weapons might be used against him, he felt that his real safety lay in a rigid212 control of his mind and feelings and a stout213 refusal to admit that he was in the least alarmed.
The house was very still. As the night wore on the wind dropped. Only occasional bursts of sleet214 against the windows reminded him that the elements were awake and uneasy. Once or twice the windows rattled and the rain hissed215 in the fire, but the roar of the wind in the chimney grew less and less and the lonely building was at last lapped in a great stillness. The coals clicked, settling themselves deeper in the grate, and the noise of the cinders216 dropping with a tiny report into the soft heap of accumulated ashes was the only sound that punctuated217 the silence.
In proportion as the power of sleep grew upon him the dread218 of the situation lessened220; but so imperceptibly, so gradually, and so insinuatingly221 that he scarcely realised the change. He thought he was as wide awake to his danger as ever. The successful exclusion222 of horrible mental pictures of what he had seen he attributed to his rigorous control, instead of to their true cause, the creeping over him of the soft influences of sleep. The faces in the coals were so soothing223; the armchair was so comfortable; so sweet the breath that gently pressed upon his eyelids224; so subtle the growth of the sensation of safety. He settled down deeper into the chair and in another moment would have been asleep when the red flag began to shake violently to and fro and he sat bolt upright as if he had been stabbed in the back.
Someone was coming up the stairs. The boards creaked beneath a stealthy weight.
Shorthouse sprang from the chair and crossed the room swiftly, taking up his position beside the door, but out of range of the keyhole. The two candles flared225 unevenly226 on the table at the foot of the bed. The steps were slow and cautious—it seemed thirty seconds between each one—but the person who was taking them was very close to the door. Already he had topped the stairs and was shuffling almost silently across the bit of landing.
The secretary slipped his hand into his pistol pocket and drew back further against the wall, and hardly had he completed the movement when the sounds abruptly ceased and he knew that somebody was standing just outside the door and preparing for a careful observation through the keyhole.
He was in no sense a coward. In action he was never afraid. It was the waiting and wondering and the uncertainty227 that might have loosened his nerves a little. But, somehow, a wave of intense horror swept over him for a second as he thought of the bestial maniac and his attendant Jew; and he would rather have faced a pack of wolves than have to do with either of these men.
Something brushing gently against the door set his nerves tingling afresh and made him tighten228 his grasp on the pistol. The steel was cold and slippery in his moist fingers. What an awful noise it would make when he pulled the trigger! If the door were to open how close he would be to the figure that came in! Yet he knew it was locked on the inside and could not possibly open. Again something brushed against the panel beside him and a second later the piece of crumpled paper fell from the keyhole to the floor, while the piece of thin wire that had accomplished229 this result showed its point for a moment in the room and was then swiftly withdrawn.
Somebody was evidently peering now through the keyhole, and realising this fact the spirit of attack entered into the heart of the beleaguered230 man. Raising aloft his right hand he brought it suddenly down with a resounding231 crash upon the panel of the door next the keyhole—a crash that, to the crouching eavesdropper232, must have seemed like a clap of thunder out of a clear sky. There was a gasp5 and a slight lurching against the door and the midnight listener rose startled and alarmed, for Shorthouse plainly heard the tread of feet across the landing and down the stairs till they were lost in the silences of the hall. Only, this time, it seemed to him there were four feet instead of two.
Quickly stuffing the paper back into the keyhole, he was in the act of walking back to the fireplace when, over his shoulder, he caught sight of a white face pressed in outline against the outside of the window. It was blurred233 in the streams of sleet, but the white of the moving eyes was unmistakable. He turned instantly to meet it, but the face was withdrawn like a flash, and darkness rushed in to fill the gap where it had appeared.
"Watched on both sides," he reflected.
But he was not to be surprised into any sudden action, and quietly walking over to the fireplace as if he had seen nothing unusual he stirred the coals a moment and then strolled leisurely234 over to the window. Steeling his nerves, which quivered a moment in spite of his will, he opened the window and stepped out on to the balcony. The wind, which he thought had dropped, rushed past him into the room and extinguished one of the candles, while a volley of fine cold rain burst all over his face. At first he could see nothing, and the darkness came close up to his eyes like a wall. He went a little farther on to the balcony and drew the window after him till it clashed. Then he stood and waited.
But nothing touched him. No one seemed to be there. His eyes got accustomed to the blackness and he was able to make out the iron railing, the dark shapes of the trees beyond, and the faint light coming from the other window. Through this he peered into the room, walking the length of the balcony to do so. Of course he was standing in a shaft of light and whoever was crouching in the darkness below could plainly see him. Below?—That there should be anyone above did not occur to him until, just as he was preparing to go in again, he became aware that something was moving in the darkness over his head. He looked up, instinctively235 raising a protecting arm, and saw a long black line swinging against the dim wall of the house. The shutters236 of the window on the next floor, whence it depended, were thrown open and moving backwards237 and forwards in the wind. The line was evidently a thickish cord, for as he looked it was pulled in and the end disappeared in the darkness.
Shorthouse, trying to whistle to himself, peered over the edge of the balcony as if calculating the distance he might have to drop, and then calmly walked into the room again and closed the window behind him, leaving the latch238 so that the lightest touch would cause it to fly open. He relit the candle and drew a straight-backed chair up to the table. Then he put coal on the fire and stirred it up into a royal blaze. He would willingly have folded the shutters over those staring windows at his back. But that was out of the question. It would have been to cut off his way of escape.
Sleep, for the time, was at a disadvantage. His brain was full of blood and every nerve was tingling. He felt as if countless239 eyes were upon him and scores of stained hands were stretching out from the corners and crannies of the house to seize him. Crouching figures, figures of hideous194 Jews, stood everywhere about him where shelter was, creeping forward out of the shadows when he was not looking and retreating swiftly and silently when he turned his head. Wherever he looked, other eyes met his own, and though they melted away under his steady, confident gaze, he knew they would wax and draw in upon him the instant his glances weakened and his will wavered.
Though there were no sounds, he knew that in the well of the house there was movement going on, and preparation. And this knowledge, inasmuch as it came to him irresistibly and through other and more subtle channels than those of the senses kept the sense of horror fresh in his blood and made him alert and awake.
But, no matter how great the dread in the heart, the power of sleep will eventually overcome it. Exhausted240 nature is irresistible241, and as the minutes wore on and midnight passed, he realised that nature was vigorously asserting herself and sleep was creeping upon him from the extremities242.
To lessen219 the danger he took out his pencil and began to draw the articles of furniture in the room. He worked into elaborate detail the cupboard, the mantelpiece, and the bed, and from these he passed on to the portraits. Being possessed of genuine skill, he found the occupation sufficiently absorbing. It kept the blood in his brain, and that kept him awake. The pictures, moreover, now that he considered them for the first time, were exceedingly well painted. Owing to the dim light, he centred his attention upon the portraits beside the fireplace. On the right was a woman, with a sweet, gentle face and a figure of great refinement243; on the left was a full-size figure of a big handsome man with a full beard and wearing a hunting costume of ancient date.
From time to time he turned to the windows behind him, but the vision of the face was not repeated. More than once, too, he went to the door and listened, but the silence was so profound in the house that he gradually came to believe the plan of attack had been abandoned. Once he went out on to the balcony, but the sleet stung his face and he only had time to see that the shutters above were closed, when he was obliged to seek the shelter of the room again.
In this way the hours passed. The fire died down and the room grew chilly. Shorthouse had made several sketches244 of the two heads and was beginning to feel overpoweringly weary. His feet and his hands were cold and his yawns were prodigious245. It seemed ages and ages since the steps had come to listen at his door and the face had watched him from the window. A feeling of safety had somehow come to him. In reality he was exhausted. His one desire was to drop upon the soft white bed and yield himself up to sleep without any further struggle.
He rose from his chair with a series of yawns that refused to be stifled246 and looked at his watch. It was close upon three in the morning. He made up his mind that he would lie down with his clothes on and get some sleep. It was safe enough, the door was locked on the inside and the window was fastened. Putting the bag on the table near his pillow he blew out the candles and dropped with a sense of careless and delicious exhaustion247 upon the soft mattress248. In five minutes he was sound asleep.
There had scarcely been time for the dreams to come when he found himself lying side-ways across the bed with wide open eyes staring into the darkness. Someone had touched him, and he had writhed249 away in his sleep as from something unholy. The movement had awakened250 him.
The room was simply black. No light came from the windows and the fire had gone out as completely as if water had been poured upon it. He gazed into a sheet of impenetrable darkness that came close up to his face like a wall.
His first thought was for the papers in his coat and his hand flew to the pocket. They were safe; and the relief caused by this discovery left his mind instantly free for other reflections.
And the realisation that at once came to him with a touch of dismay was, that during his sleep some definite change had been effected in the room. He felt this with that intuitive certainty which amounts to positive knowledge. The room was utterly251 still, but the corroboration252 that was speedily brought to him seemed at once to fill the darkness with a whispering, secret life that chilled his blood and made the sheet feel like ice against his cheek.
Hark! This was it; there reached his ears, in which the blood was already buzzing with warning clamour, a dull murmur253 of something that rose indistinctly from the well of the house and became audible to him without passing through walls or doors. There seemed no solid surface between him, lying on the bed, and the landing; between the landing and the stairs, and between the stairs and the hall beyond.
He knew that the door of the room was standing open! Therefore it had been opened from the inside. Yet the window was fastened, also on the inside.
Hardly was this realised when the conspiring254 silence of the hour was broken by another and a more definite sound. A step was coming along the passage. A certain bruise255 on the hip told Shorthouse that the pistol in his pocket was ready for use and he drew it out quickly and cocked it. Then he just had time to slip over the edge of the bed and crouch163 down on the floor when the step halted on the threshold of the room. The bed was thus between him and the open door. The window was at his back.
He waited in the darkness. What struck him as peculiar about the steps was that there seemed no particular desire to move stealthily. There was no extreme caution. They moved along in rather a slipshod way and sounded like soft slippers256 or feet in stockings. There was something clumsy, irresponsible, almost reckless about the movement.
For a second the steps paused upon the threshold, but only for a second. Almost immediately they came on into the room, and as they passed from the wood to the carpet Shorthouse noticed that they became wholly noiseless. He waited in suspense257, not knowing whether the unseen walker was on the other side of the room or was close upon him. Presently he stood up and stretched out his left arm in front of him, groping, searching, feeling in a circle; and behind it he held the pistol, cocked and pointed, in his right hand. As he rose a bone cracked in his knee, his clothes rustled258 as if they were newspapers, and his breath seemed loud enough to be heard all over the room. But not a sound came to betray the position of the invisible intruder.
Then, just when the tension was becoming unbearable, a noise relieved the gripping silence. It was wood knocking against wood, and it came from the farther end of the room. The steps had moved over to the fireplace. A sliding sound almost immediately followed it and then silence closed again over everything like a pall.
For another five minutes Shorthouse waited, and then the suspense became too much. He could not stand that open door! The candles were close beside him and he struck a match and lit them, expecting in the sudden glare to receive at least a terrific blow. But nothing happened, and he saw at once that the room was entirely empty. Walking over with the pistol cocked he peered out into the darkness of the landing and then closed the door and turned the key. Then he searched the room—bed, cupboard, table, curtains, everything that could have concealed a man; but found no trace of the intruder. The owner of the footsteps had disappeared like a ghost into the shadows of the night. But for one fact he might have imagined that he had been dreaming: the bag had vanished!
There was no more sleep for Shorthouse that night. His watch pointed to 4 a.m. and there were still three hours before daylight. He sat down at the table and continued his sketches. With fixed determination he went on with his drawing and began a new outline of the man's head. There was something in the expression that continually evaded259 him. He had no success with it, and this time it seemed to him that it was the eyes that brought about his discomfiture260. He held up his pencil before his face to measure the distance between the nose and the eyes, and to his amazement261 he saw that a change had come over the features. The eyes were no longer open. The lids had closed!
For a second he stood in a sort of stupefied astonishment. A push would have toppled him over. Then he sprang to his feet and held a candle close up to the picture. The eye-lids quivered, the eye-lashes trembled. Then, right before his gaze, the eyes opened and looked straight into his own. Two holes were cut in the panel and this pair of eyes, human eyes, just fitted them.
As by a curious effect of magic, the strong fear that had governed him ever since his entry into the house disappeared in a second. Anger rushed into his heart and his chilled blood rose suddenly to boiling point. Putting the candle down, he took two steps back into the room and then flung himself forward with all his strength against the painted panel. Instantly, and before the crash came, the eyes were withdrawn, and two black spaces showed where they had been. The old huntsman was eyeless. But the panel cracked and split inwards like a sheet of thin cardboard; and Shorthouse, pistol in hand, thrust an arm through the jagged aperture262 and, seizing a human leg, dragged out into the room—the Jew!
Words rushed in such a torrent263 to his lips that they choked him. The old Hebrew, white as chalk, stood shaking before him, the bright pistol barrel opposite his eyes, when a volume of cold air rushed into the room, and with it a sound of hurried steps. Shorthouse felt his arm knocked up before he had time to turn, and the same second Garvey, who had somehow managed to burst open the window came between him and the trembling Marx. His lips were parted and his eyes rolled strangely in his distorted face.
"You damned hound," he roared, hissing265 in his face. "So I've got you at last. That's where your vacuum is, is it? I know your vile hiding-place at last." He shook him like a dog. "I've been after him all night," he cried, turning to Shorthouse, "all night, I tell you, and I've got him at last."
Garvey lifted his upper lip as he spoke and showed his teeth. They shone like the fangs266 of a wolf. The Jew evidently saw them too, for he gave a horrid yell and struggled furiously.
Before the eyes of the secretary a mist seemed to rise. The hideous shadow again leaped into Garvey's face. He foresaw a dreadful battle, and covering the two men with his pistol he retreated slowly to the door. Whether they were both mad, or both criminal, he did not pause to inquire. The only thought present in his mind was that the sooner he made his escape the better.
Garvey was still shaking the Jew when he reached the door and turned the key, but as he passed out on to the landing both men stopped their struggling and turned to face him. Garvey's face, bestial, loathsome, livid with anger; the Jew's white and grey with fear and horror;—both turned towards him and joined in a wild, horrible yell that woke the echoes of the night. The next second they were after him at full speed.
Shorthouse slammed the door in their faces and was at the foot of the stairs, crouching in the shadow, before they were out upon the landing. They tore shrieking267 down the stairs and past him, into the hall; and, wholly unnoticed, Shorthouse whipped up the stairs again, crossed the bedroom and dropped from the balcony into the soft snow.
As he ran down the drive he heard behind him in the house the yells of the maniacs268; and when he reached home several hours later Mr. Sidebotham not only raised his salary but also told him to buy a new hat and overcoat, and send in the bill to him.
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1
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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2
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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7
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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10
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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12
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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13
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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14
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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15
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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16
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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17
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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19
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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20
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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21
blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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23
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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24
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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25
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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26
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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28
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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30
accredited
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| adj.可接受的；可信任的；公认的；质量合格的v.相信( accredit的过去式和过去分词 )；委托；委任；把…归结于 | |
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31
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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32
ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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33
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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34
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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35
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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37
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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38
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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39
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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40
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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41
drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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42
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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43
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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44
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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45
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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46
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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47
drearier
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| 使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的比较级 )； 阴沉的； 令人厌烦的； 单调的 | |
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48
transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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49
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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50
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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51
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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52
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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53
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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54
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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55
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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56
cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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57
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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58
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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59
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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60
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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61
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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62
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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63
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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64
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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65
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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66
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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67
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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68
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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69
taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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70
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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71
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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72
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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73
lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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74
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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75
funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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76
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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77
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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78
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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79
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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80
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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81
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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82
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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83
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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84
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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85
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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86
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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87
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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88
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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89
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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91
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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92
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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93
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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94
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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95
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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96
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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97
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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98
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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99
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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100
acquiesce
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| vi.默许，顺从，同意 | |
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101
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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102
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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103
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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104
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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106
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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107
defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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108
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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109
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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110
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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111
delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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112
circumspectly
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| adv.慎重地，留心地 | |
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113
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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114
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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115
portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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116
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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117
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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118
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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119
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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120
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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121
smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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122
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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123
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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124
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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125
devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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126
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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127
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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128
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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129
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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130
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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131
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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132
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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133
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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134
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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135
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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136
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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137
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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138
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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139
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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140
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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141
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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142
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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143
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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144
chilliness
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| n.寒冷，寒意，严寒 | |
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145
predilection
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| n.偏好 | |
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146
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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147
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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148
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
abhor
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| v.憎恶；痛恨 | |
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150
abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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151
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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152
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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153
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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154
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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155
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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156
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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157
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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158
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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159
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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160
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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161
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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162
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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163
crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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164
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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165
loathsomeness
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166
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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167
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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168
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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169
bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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170
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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171
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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172
nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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173
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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174
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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175
ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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176
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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177
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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178
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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179
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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180
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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181
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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182
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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183
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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184
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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185
appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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186
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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187
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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188
vegetarianism
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| n.素食，素食主义 | |
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189
vegetarians
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| n.吃素的人( vegetarian的名词复数 )；素食者；素食主义者；食草动物 | |
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190
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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191
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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192
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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193
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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194
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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195
disappearances
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| n.消失( disappearance的名词复数 )；丢失；失踪；失踪案 | |
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196
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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197
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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198
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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199
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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200
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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201
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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202
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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203
canopied
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| adj. 遮有天篷的 | |
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204
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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205
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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206
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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207
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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208
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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209
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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210
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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211
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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212
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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214
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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215
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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216
cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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217
punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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218
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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219
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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220
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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221
insinuatingly
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222
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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223
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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224
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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225
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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226
unevenly
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| adv.不均匀的 | |
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227
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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228
tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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229
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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230
beleaguered
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| adj.受到围困[围攻]的；包围的v.围攻( beleaguer的过去式和过去分词)；困扰；骚扰 | |
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231
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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232
eavesdropper
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| 偷听者 | |
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233
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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234
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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235
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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236
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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237
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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238
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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239
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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240
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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241
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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242
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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243
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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244
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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245
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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246
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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247
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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248
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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249
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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250
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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251
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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252
corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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253
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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254
conspiring
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| 密谋( conspire的现在分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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255
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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256
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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257
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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258
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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259
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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260
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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261
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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262
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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263
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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264
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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265
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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266
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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267
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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268
maniacs
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| n.疯子（maniac的复数形式） | |
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