In a certain wing of what we will call Old College in Oxford there is a corner turret12 of an exceeding great age. The heavy arch which spans the open door has bent13 downwards14 in the centre under the weight of its years, and the grey, lichen-blotched blocks of stone are, bound and knitted together with withes and strands15 of ivy16, as though the old mother had set herself to brace17 them up against wind and weather. From the door a stone stair curves upward spirally, passing two landings, and terminating in a third one, its steps all shapeless and hollowed by the tread of so many generations of the seekers after knowledge. Life has flowed like water down this winding19 stair, and, waterlike, has left these smooth-worn grooves20 behind it. From the long-gowned, pedantic21 scholars of Plantagenet days down to the young bloods of a later age, how full and strong had been that tide of young English life. And what was left now of all those hopes, those strivings, those fiery22 energies, save here and there in some old-world churchyard a few scratches upon a stone, and perchance a handful of dust in a mouldering23 coffin24? Yet here were the silent stair and the grey old wall, with bend and saltire and many another heraldic device still to be read upon its surface, like grotesque27 shadows thrown back from the days that had passed.
In the month of May, in the year 1884, three young men occupied the sets of rooms which opened on to the separate landings of the old stair. Each set consisted simply of a sitting-room28 and of a bedroom, while the two corresponding rooms upon the ground-floor were used, the one as a coal-cellar, and the other as the living-room of the servant, or gyp, Thomas Styles, whose duty it was to wait upon the three men above him. To right and to left was a line of lecture-rooms and of offices, so that the dwellers29 in the old turret enjoyed a certain seclusion30, which made the chambers32 popular among the more studious undergraduates. Such were the three who occupied them now—Abercrombie Smith above, Edward Bellingham beneath him, and William Monkhouse Lee upon the lowest storey.
It was ten o’clock on a bright spring night, and Abercrombie Smith lay back in his arm-chair, his feet upon the fender, and his briar-root pipe between his lips. In a similar chair, and equally at his ease, there lounged on the other side of the fireplace his old school friend Jephro Hastie. Both men were in flannels33, for they had spent their evening upon the river, but apart from their dress no one could look at their hard-cut, alert faces without seeing that they were open-air men—men whose minds and tastes turned naturally to all that was manly34 and robust35. Hastie, indeed, was stroke of his college boat, and Smith was an even better oar36, but a coming examination had already cast its shadow over him and held him to his work, save for the few hours a week which health demanded. A litter of medical books upon the table, with scattered37 bones, models and anatomical plates, pointed38 to the extent as well as the nature of his studies, while a couple of single-sticks and a set of boxing-gloves above the mantelpiece hinted at the means by which, with Hastie’s help, he might take his exercise in its most compressed and least distant form. They knew each other very well—so well that they could sit now in that soothing39 silence which is the very highest development of companionship.
“Have some whisky,” said Abercrombie Smith at last between two cloudbursts. “Scotch in the jug40 and Irish in the bottle.”
“No, thanks. I’m in for the sculls. I don’t liquor when I’m training. How about you?”
“I’m reading hard. I think it best to leave it alone.”
Hastie nodded, and they relapsed into a contented42 silence.
“By-the-way, Smith,” asked Hastie, presently, “have you made the acquaintance of either of the fellows on your stair yet?”
“Just a nod when we pass. Nothing more.”
“Hum! I should be inclined to let it stand at that. I know something of them both. Not much, but as much as I want. I don’t think I should take them to my bosom43 if I were you. Not that there’s much amiss with Monkhouse Lee.”
“Meaning the thin one?”
“Precisely. He is a gentlemanly little fellow. I don’t think there is any vice26 in him. But then you can’t know him without knowing Bellingham.”
“Meaning the fat one?”
“Yes, the fat one. And he’s a man whom I, for one, would rather not know.”
Abercrombie Smith raised his eyebrows44 and glanced across at his companion.
“What’s up, then?” he asked. “Drink? Cards? Cad? You used not to be censorious.”
“Ah! you evidently don’t know the man, or you wouldn’t ask. There’s something damnable about him—something reptilian45. My gorge46 always rises at him. I should put him down as a man with secret vices—an evil liver. He’s no fool, though. They say that he is one of the best men in his line that they have ever had in the college.”
“Medicine or classics?”
“Eastern languages. He’s a demon47 at them. Chillingworth met him somewhere above the second cataract48 last long, and he told me that he just prattled49 to the Arabs as if he had been born and nursed and weaned among them. He talked Coptic to the Copts, and Hebrew to the Jews, and Arabic to the Bedouins, and they were all ready to kiss the hem18 of his frock-coat. There are some old hermit51 Johnnies up in those parts who sit on rocks and scowl52 and spit at the casual stranger. Well, when they saw this chap Bellingham, before he had said five words they just lay down on their bellies53 and wriggled54. Chillingworth said that he never saw anything like it. Bellingham seemed to take it as his right, too, and strutted55 about among them and talked down to them like a Dutch uncle. Pretty good for an undergrad. of Old’s, wasn’t it?”
“Why do you say you can’t know Lee without knowing Bellingham?”
“Because Bellingham is engaged to his sister Eveline. Such a bright little girl, Smith! I know the whole family well. It’s disgusting to see that brute57 with her. A toad58 and a dove, that’s what they always remind me of.”
Abercrombie Smith grinned and knocked his ashes out against the side of the grate.
“You show every card in your hand, old chap,” said he. “What a prejudiced, green-eyed, evil-thinking old man it is! You have really nothing against the fellow except that.”
“Well, I’ve known her ever since she was as long as that cherry-wood pipe, and I don’t like to see her taking risks. And it is a risk. He looks beastly. And he has a beastly temper, a venomous temper. You remember his row with Long Norton?”
“No; you always forget that I am a freshman59.”
“Ah, it was last winter. Of course. Well, you know the towpath along by the river. There were several fellows going along it, Bellingham in front, when they came on an old market-woman coming the other way. It had been raining—you know what those fields are like when it has rained—and the path ran between the river and a great puddle60 that was nearly as broad. Well, what does this swine do but keep the path, and push the old girl into the mud, where she and her marketings came to terrible grief. It was a blackguard thing to do, and Long Norton, who is as gentle a fellow as ever stepped, told him what he thought of it. One word led to another, and it ended in Norton laying his stick across the fellow’s shoulders. There was the deuce of a fuss about it, and it’s a treat to see the way in which Bellingham looks at Norton when they meet now. By Jove, Smith, it’s nearly eleven o’clock!”
“No hurry. Light your pipe again.”
“Not I. I’m supposed to be in training. Here I’ve been sitting gossiping when I ought to have been safely tucked up. I’ll borrow your skull62, if you can share it. Williams has had mine for a month. I’ll take the little bones of your ear, too, if you are sure you won’t need them. Thanks very much. Never mind a bag, I can carry them very well under my arm. Good-night, my son, and take my tip as to your neighbour.”
When Hastie, bearing his anatomical plunder63, had clattered64 off down the winding stair, Abercrombie Smith hurled66 his pipe into the wastepaper basket, and drawing his chair nearer to the lamp, plunged67 into a formidable green-covered volume, adorned68 with great colored maps of that strange internal kingdom of which we are the hapless and helpless monarchs69. Though a freshman at Oxford, the student was not so in medicine, for he had worked for four years at Glasgow and at Berlin, and this coming examination would place him finally as a member of his profession. With his firm mouth, broad forehead, and clear-cut, somewhat hard-featured face, he was a man who, if he had no brilliant talent, was yet so dogged, so patient, and so strong that he might in the end overtop a more showy genius. A man who can hold his own among Scotchmen and North Germans is not a man to be easily set back. Smith had left a name at Glasgow and at Berlin, and he was bent now upon doing as much at Oxford, if hard work and devotion could accomplish it.
He had sat reading for about an hour, and the hands of the noisy carriage clock upon the side table were rapidly closing together upon the twelve, when a sudden sound fell upon the student’s ear—a sharp, rather shrill70 sound, like the hissing71 intake72 of a man’s breath who gasps73 under some strong emotion. Smith laid down his book and slanted74 his ear to listen. There was no one on either side or above him, so that the interruption came certainly from the neighbour beneath—the same neighbour of whom Hastie had given so unsavoury an account. Smith knew him only as a flabby, pale-faced man of silent and studious habits, a man, whose lamp threw a golden bar from the old turret even after he had extinguished his own. This community in lateness had formed a certain silent bond between them. It was soothing to Smith when the hours stole on towards dawning to feel that there was another so close who set as small a value upon his sleep as he did. Even now, as his thoughts turned towards him, Smith’s feelings were kindly75. Hastie was a good fellow, but he was rough, strong-fibred, with no imagination or sympathy. He could not tolerate departures from what he looked upon as the model type of manliness76. If a man could not be measured by a public-school standard, then he was beyond the pale with Hastie. Like so many who are themselves robust, he was apt to confuse the constitution with the character, to ascribe to want of principle what was really a want of circulation. Smith, with his stronger mind, knew his friend’s habit, and made allowance for it now as his thoughts turned towards the man beneath him.
There was no return of the singular sound, and Smith was about to turn to his work once more, when suddenly there broke out in the silence of the night a hoarse77 cry, a positive scream—the call of a man who is moved and shaken beyond all control. Smith sprang out of his chair and dropped his book. He was a man of fairly firm fibre, but there was something in this sudden, uncontrollable shriek78 of horror which chilled his blood and pringled in his skin. Coming in such a place and at such an hour, it brought a thousand fantastic possibilities into his head. Should he rush down, or was it better to wait? He had all the national hatred79 of making a scene, and he knew so little of his neighbour that he would not lightly intrude80 upon his affairs. For a moment he stood in doubt and even as he balanced the matter there was a quick rattle50 of footsteps upon the stairs, and young Monkhouse Lee, half dressed and as white as ashes, burst into his room.
“Come down!” he gasped81. “Bellingham’s ill.”
Abercrombie Smith followed him closely down stairs into the sitting-room which was beneath his own, and intent as he was upon the matter in hand, he could not but take an amazed glance around him as he crossed the threshold. It was such a chamber31 as he had never seen before—a museum rather than a study. Walls and ceiling were thickly covered with a thousand strange relics82 from Egypt and the East. Tall, angular figures bearing burdens or weapons stalked in an uncouth83 frieze84 round the apartments. Above were bull-headed, stork-headed, cat-headed, owl-headed statues, with viper-crowned, almond-eyed monarchs, and strange, beetle-like deities85 cut out of the blue Egyptian lapis lazuli. Horus and Isis and Osiris peeped down from every niche86 and shelf, while across the ceiling a true son of Old Nile, a great, hanging-jawed crocodile, was slung87 in a double noose88.
In the centre of this singular chamber was a large, square table, littered with papers, bottles, and the dried leaves of some graceful89, palm-like plant. These varied90 objects had all been heaped together in order to make room for a mummy case, which had been conveyed from the wall, as was evident from the gap there, and laid across the front of the table. The mummy itself, a horrid91, black, withered92 thing, like a charred93 head on a gnarled bush, was lying half out of the case, with its clawlike hand and bony forearm resting upon the table. Propped94 up against the sarcophagus was an old yellow scroll95 of papyrus96, and in front of it, in a wooden armchair, sat the owner of the room, his head thrown back, his widely-opened eyes directed in a horrified97 stare to the crocodile above him, and his blue, thick lips puffing98 loudly with every expiration99.
“My God! he’s dying!” cried Monkhouse Lee distractedly.
He was a slim, handsome young fellow, olive-skinned and dark-eyed, of a Spanish rather than of an English type, with a Celtic intensity100 of manner which contrasted with the Saxon phlegm of Abercombie Smith.
“Only a faint, I think,” said the medical student. “Just give me a hand with him. You take his feet. Now on to the sofa. Can you kick all those little wooden devils off? What a litter it is! Now he will be all right if we undo101 his collar and give him some water. What has he been up to at all?”
“I don’t know. I heard him cry out. I ran up. I know him pretty well, you know. It is very good of you to come down.”
“His heart is going like a pair of castanets,” said Smith, laying his hand on the breast of the unconscious man. “He seems to me to be frightened all to pieces. Chuck the water over him! What a face he has got on him!”
It was indeed a strange and most repellent face, for colour and outline were equally unnatural102. It was white, not with the ordinary pallor of fear but with an absolutely bloodless white, like the under side of a sole. He was very fat, but gave the impression of having at some time been considerably103 fatter, for his skin hung loosely in creases104 and folds, and was shot with a meshwork of wrinkles. Short, stubbly brown hair bristled105 up from his scalp, with a pair of thick, wrinkled ears protruding106 on either side. His light grey eyes were still open, the pupils dilated107 and the balls projecting in a fixed108 and horrid stare. It seemed to Smith as he looked down upon him that he had never seen nature’s danger signals flying so plainly upon a man’s countenance109, and his thoughts turned more seriously to the warning which Hastie had given him an hour before.
“What the deuce can have frightened him so?” he asked.
“It’s the mummy.”
“The mummy? How, then?”
“I don’t know. It’s beastly and morbid110. I wish he would drop it. It’s the second fright he has given me. It was the same last winter. I found him just like this, with that horrid thing in front of him.”
“What does he want with the mummy, then?”
“Oh, he’s a crank, you know. It’s his hobby. He knows more about these things than any man in England. But I wish he wouldn’t! Ah, he’s beginning to come to.”
A faint tinge111 of colour had begun to steal back into Bellingham’s ghastly cheeks, and his eyelids112 shivered like a sail after a calm. He clasped and unclasped his hands, drew a long, thin breath between his teeth, and suddenly jerking up his head, threw a glance of recognition around him. As his eyes fell upon the mummy, he sprang off the sofa, seized the roll of papyrus, thrust it into a drawer, turned the key, and then staggered back on to the sofa.
“What’s up?” he asked. “What do you chaps want?”
“You’ve been shrieking113 out and making no end of a fuss,” said Monkhouse Lee. “If our neighbour here from above hadn’t come down, I’m sure I don’t know what I should have done with you.”
“Ah, it’s Abercrombie Smith,” said Bellingham, glancing up at him. “How very good of you to come in! What a fool I am! Oh, my God, what a fool I am!”
He sunk his head on to his hands, and burst into peal114 after peal of hysterical115 laughter.
“Look here! drop it!” cried Smith, shaking him roughly by the shoulder.
“Your nerves are all in a jangle. You must drop these little midnight games with mummies, or you’ll be going off your chump. You’re all on wires now.”
“I wonder,” said Bellingham, “whether you would be as cool as I am if you had seen——”
“What then?”
“Oh, nothing. I meant that I wonder if you could sit up at night with a mummy without trying your nerves. I have no doubt that you are quite right. I dare say that I have been taking it out of myself too much lately. But I am all right now. Please don’t go, though. Just wait for a few minutes until I am quite myself.”
“The room is very close,” remarked Lee, throwing open the window and letting in the cool night air.
“It’s balsamic resin,” said Bellingham. He lifted up one of the dried palmate leaves from the table and frizzled it over the chimney of the lamp. It broke away into heavy smoke wreaths, and a pungent116, biting odour filled the chamber. “It’s the sacred plant—the plant of the priests,” he remarked. “Do you know anything of Eastern languages, Smith?”
“Nothing at all. Not a word.”
The answer seemed to lift a weight from the Egyptologist’s mind.
“By-the-way,” he continued, “how long was it from the time that you ran down, until I came to my senses?”
“Not long. Some four or five minutes.”
“I thought it could not be very long,” said he, drawing a long breath. “But what a strange thing unconsciousness is! There is no measurement to it. I could not tell from my own sensations if it were seconds or weeks. Now that gentleman on the table was packed up in the days of the eleventh dynasty, some forty centuries ago, and yet if he could find his tongue he would tell us that this lapse41 of time has been but a closing of the eyes and a reopening of them. He is a singularly fine mummy, Smith.”
Smith stepped over to the table and looked down with a professional eye at the black and twisted form in front of him. The features, though horribly discoloured, were perfect, and two little nut-like eyes still lurked117 in the depths of the black, hollow sockets118. The blotched skin was drawn119 tightly from bone to bone, and a tangled120 wrap of black coarse hair fell over the ears. Two thin teeth, like those of a rat, overlay the shrivelled lower lip. In its crouching121 position, with bent joints122 and craned head, there was a suggestion of energy about the horrid thing which made Smith’s gorge rise. The gaunt ribs123, with their parchment-like covering, were exposed, and the sunken, leaden-hued abdomen124, with the long slit125 where the embalmer126 had left his mark; but the lower limbs were wrapt round with coarse yellow bandages. A number of little clove-like pieces of myrrh and of cassia were sprinkled over the body, and lay scattered on the inside of the case.
“I don’t know his name,” said Bellingham, passing his hand over the shrivelled head. “You see the outer sarcophagus with the inscriptions127 is missing. Lot 249 is all the title he has now. You see it printed on his case. That was his number in the auction129 at which I picked him up.”
“He has been a very pretty sort of fellow in his day,” remarked Abercrombie Smith.
“He has been a giant. His mummy is six feet seven in length, and that would be a giant over there, for they were never a very robust race. Feel these great knotted bones, too. He would be a nasty fellow to tackle.”
“Perhaps these very hands helped to build the stones into the pyramids,” suggested Monkhouse Lee, looking down with disgust in his eyes at the crooked130, unclean talons131.
“No fear. This fellow has been pickled in natron, and looked after in the most approved style. They did not serve hodsmen in that fashion. Salt or bitumen132 was enough for them. It has been calculated that this sort of thing cost about seven hundred and thirty pounds in our money. Our friend was a noble at the least. What do you make of that small inscription128 near his feet, Smith?”
“I told you that I know no Eastern tongue.”
“Ah, so you did. It is the name of the embalmer, I take it. A very conscientious133 worker he must have been. I wonder how many modern works will survive four thousand years?”
He kept on speaking lightly and rapidly, but it was evident to Abercrombie Smith that he was still palpitating with fear. His hands shook, his lower lip trembled, and look where he would, his eye always came sliding round to his gruesome companion. Through all his fear, however, there was a suspicion of triumph in his tone and manner. His eye shone, and his footstep, as he paced the room, was brisk and jaunty134. He gave the impression of a man who has gone through an ordeal135, the marks of which he still bears upon him, but which has helped him to his end.
“You’re not going yet?” he cried, as Smith rose from the sofa.
At the prospect136 of solitude137, his fears seemed to crowd back upon him, and he stretched out a hand to detain him.
“Yes, I must go. I have my work to do. You are all right now. I think that with your nervous system you should take up some less morbid study.”
“Oh, I am not nervous as a rule; and I have unwrapped mummies before.”
“You fainted last time,” observed Monkhouse Lee.
“Ah, yes, so I did. Well, I must have a nerve tonic138 or a course of electricity. You are not going, Lee?”
“I’ll do whatever you wish, Ned.”
“Then I’ll come down with you and have a shake-down on your sofa. Good-night, Smith. I am so sorry to have disturbed you with my foolishness.”
They shook hands, and as the medical student stumbled up the spiral and irregular stair he heard a key turn in a door, and the steps of his two new acquaintances as they descended139 to the lower floor.
In this strange way began the acquaintance between Edward Bellingham and Abercrombie Smith, an acquaintance which the latter, at least, had no desire to push further. Bellingham, however, appeared to have taken a fancy to his rough-spoken neighbour, and made his advances in such a way that he could hardly be repulsed141 without absolute brutality142. Twice he called to thank Smith for his assistance, and many times afterwards he looked in with books, papers, and such other civilities as two bachelor neighbours can offer each other. He was, as Smith soon found, a man of wide reading, with catholic tastes and an extraordinary memory. His manner, too, was so pleasing and suave143 that one came, after a time, to overlook his repellent appearance. For a jaded144 and wearied man he was no unpleasant companion, and Smith found himself, after a time, looking forward to his visits, and even returning them.
Clever as he undoubtedly145 was, however, the medical student seemed to detect a dash of insanity146 in the man. He broke out at times into a high, inflated147 style of talk which was in contrast with the simplicity148 of his life.
“It is a wonderful thing,” he cried, “to feel that one can command powers of good and of evil—a ministering angel or a demon of vengeance149.” And again, of Monkhouse Lee, he said,—“Lee is a good fellow, an honest fellow, but he is without strength or ambition. He would not make a fit partner for a man with a great enterprise. He would not make a fit partner for me.”
At such hints and innuendoes150 stolid151 Smith, puffing solemnly at his pipe, would simply raise his eyebrows and shake his head, with little interjections of medical wisdom as to earlier hours and fresher air.
One habit Bellingham had developed of late which Smith knew to be a frequent herald25 of a weakening mind. He appeared to be forever talking to himself. At late hours of the night, when there could be no visitor with him, Smith could still hear his voice beneath him in a low, muffled152 monologue153, sunk almost to a whisper, and yet very audible in the silence. This solitary154 babbling155 annoyed and distracted the student, so that he spoke140 more than once to his neighbour about it. Bellingham, however, flushed up at the charge, and denied curtly157 that he had uttered a sound; indeed, he showed more annoyance158 over the matter than the occasion seemed to demand.
Had Abercrombie Smith had any doubt as to his own ears he had not to go far to find corroboration. Tom Styles, the little wrinkled man-servant who had attended to the wants of the lodgers159 in the turret for a longer time than any man’s memory could carry him, was sorely put to it over the same matter.
“If you please, sir,” said he, as he tidied down the top chamber one morning, “do you think Mr. Bellingham is all right, sir?”
“All right, Styles?”
“Yes sir. Right in his head, sir.”
“Why should he not be, then?”
“Well, I don’t know, sir. His habits has changed of late. He’s not the same man he used to be, though I make free to say that he was never quite one of my gentlemen, like Mr. Hastie or yourself, sir. He’s took to talkin’ to himself something awful. I wonder it don’t disturb you. I don’t know what to make of him, sir.”
“I don’t know what business it is of yours, Styles.”
“Well, I takes an interest, Mr. Smith. It may be forward of me, but I can’t help it. I feel sometimes as if I was mother and father to my young gentlemen. It all falls on me when things go wrong and the relations come. But Mr. Bellingham, sir. I want to know what it is that walks about his room sometimes when he’s out and when the door’s locked on the outside.”
“Eh! you’re talking nonsense, Styles.”
“Maybe so, sir; but I heard it more’n once with my own ears.”
“Rubbish, Styles.”
“Very good, sir. You’ll ring the bell if you want me.”
Abercrombie Smith gave little heed160 to the gossip of the old man-servant, but a small incident occurred a few days later which left an unpleasant effect upon his mind, and brought the words of Styles forcibly to his memory.
Bellingham had come up to see him late one night, and was entertaining him with an interesting account of the rock tombs of Beni Hassan in Upper Egypt, when Smith, whose hearing was remarkably161 acute, distinctly heard the sound of a door opening on the landing below.
“There’s some fellow gone in or out of your room,” he remarked.
Bellingham sprang up and stood helpless for a moment, with the expression of a man who is half incredulous and half afraid.
“I surely locked it. I am almost positive that I locked it,” he stammered162. “No one could have opened it.”
“Why, I hear someone coming up the steps now,” said Smith.
Bellingham rushed out through the door, slammed it loudly behind him, and hurried down the stairs. About half-way down Smith heard him stop, and thought he caught the sound of whispering. A moment later the door beneath him shut, a key creaked in a lock, and Bellingham, with beads164 of moisture upon his pale face, ascended165 the stairs once more, and re-entered the room.
“It’s all right,” he said, throwing himself down in a chair. “It was that fool of a dog. He had pushed the door open. I don’t know how I came to forget to lock it.”
“I didn’t know you kept a dog,” said Smith, looking very thoughtfully at the disturbed face of his companion.
“Yes, I haven’t had him long. I must get rid of him. He’s a great nuisance.”
“He must be, if you find it so hard to shut him up. I should have thought that shutting the door would have been enough, without locking it.”
“I want to prevent old Styles from letting him out. He’s of some value, you know, and it would be awkward to lose him.”
“I am a bit of a dog-fancier myself,” said Smith, still gazing hard at his companion from the corner of his eyes. “Perhaps you’ll let me have a look at it.”
“Certainly. But I am afraid it cannot be to-night; I have an appointment. Is that clock right? Then I am a quarter of an hour late already. You’ll excuse me, I am sure.”
He picked up his cap and hurried from the room. In spite of his appointment, Smith heard him re-enter his own chamber and lock his door upon the inside.
This interview left a disagreeable impression upon the medical student’s mind. Bellingham had lied to him, and lied so clumsily that it looked as if he had desperate reasons for concealing166 the truth. Smith knew that his neighbour had no dog. He knew, also, that the step which he had heard upon the stairs was not the step of an animal. But if it were not, then what could it be? There was old Styles’s statement about the something which used to pace the room at times when the owner was absent. Could it be a woman? Smith rather inclined to the view. If so, it would mean disgrace and expulsion to Bellingham if it were discovered by the authorities, so that his anxiety and falsehoods might be accounted for. And yet it was inconceivable that an undergraduate could keep a woman in his rooms without being instantly detected. Be the explanation what it might, there was something ugly about it, and Smith determined167, as he turned to his books, to discourage all further attempts at intimacy168 on the part of his soft-spoken and ill-favoured neighbour.
But his work was destined169 to interruption that night. He had hardly caught tip the broken threads when a firm, heavy footfall came three steps at a time from below, and Hastie, in blazer and flannels, burst into the room.
“Still at it!” said he, plumping down into his wonted arm-chair. “What a chap you are to stew170! I believe an earthquake might come and knock Oxford into a cocked hat, and you would sit perfectly171 placid172 with your books among the rains. However, I won’t bore you long. Three whiffs of baccy, and I am off.”
“What’s the news, then?” asked Smith, cramming173 a plug of bird’s-eye into his briar with his forefinger174.
“Nothing very much. Wilson made 70 for the freshmen175 against the eleven. They say that they will play him instead of Buddicomb, for Buddicomb is clean off colour. He used to be able to bowl a little, but it’s nothing but half-vollies and long hops176 now.”
“Medium right,” suggested Smith, with the intense gravity which comes upon a ‘varsity man when he speaks of athletics177.
“Inclining to fast, with a work from leg. Comes with the arm about three inches or so. He used to be nasty on a wet wicket. Oh, by-the-way, have you heard about Long Norton?”
“What’s that?”
“He’s been attacked.”
“Attacked?”
“Yes, just as he was turning out of the High Street, and within a hundred yards of the gate of Old’s.”
“But who——”
“Ah, that’s the rub! If you said ‘what,’ you would be more grammatical. Norton swears that it was not human, and, indeed, from the scratches on his throat, I should be inclined to agree with him.”
“What, then? Have we come down to spooks?”
Abercrombie Smith puffed178 his scientific contempt.
“Well, no; I don’t think that is quite the idea, either. I am inclined to think that if any showman has lost a great ape lately, and the brute is in these parts, a jury would find a true bill against it. Norton passes that way every night, you know, about the same hour. There’s a tree that hangs low over the path—the big elm from Rainy’s garden. Norton thinks the thing dropped on him out of the tree. Anyhow, he was nearly strangled by two arms, which, he says, were as strong and as thin as steel bands. He saw nothing; only those beastly arms that tightened179 and tightened on him. He yelled his head nearly off, and a couple of chaps came running, and the thing went over the wall like a cat. He never got a fair sight of it the whole time. It gave Norton a shake up, I can tell you. I tell him it has been as good as a change at the sea-side for him.”
“A garrotter, most likely,” said Smith.
“Very possibly. Norton says not; but we don’t mind what he says. The garrotter had long nails, and was pretty smart at swinging himself over walls. By-the-way, your beautiful neighbour would be pleased if he heard about it. He had a grudge180 against Norton, and he’s not a man, from what I know of him, to forget his little debts. But hallo, old chap, what have you got in your noddle?”
“Nothing,” Smith answered curtly.
He had started in his chair, and the look had flashed over his face which comes upon a man who is struck suddenly by some unpleasant idea.
“You looked as if something I had said had taken you on the raw. By-the-way, you have made the acquaintance of Master B. since I looked in last, have you not? Young Monkhouse Lee told me something to that effect.”
“Yes; I know him slightly. He has been up here once or twice.”
“Well, you’re big enough and ugly enough to take care of yourself. He’s not what I should call exactly a healthy sort of Johnny, though, no doubt, he’s very clever, and all that. But you’ll soon find out for yourself. Lee is all right; he’s a very decent little fellow. Well, so long, old chap! I row Mullins for the Vice-Chancellor’s pot on Wednesday week, so mind you come down, in case I don’t see you before.”
Bovine181 Smith laid down his pipe and turned stolidly182 to his books once more. But with all the will in the world, he found it very hard to keep his mind upon his work. It would slip away to brood upon the man beneath him, and upon the little mystery which hung round his chambers. Then his thoughts turned to this singular attack of which Hastie had spoken, and to the grudge which Bellingham was said to owe the object of it. The two ideas would persist in rising together in his mind, as though there were some close and intimate connection between them. And yet the suspicion was so dim and vague that it could not be put down in words.
“Confound the chap!” cried Smith, as he shied his book on pathology across the room. “He has spoiled my night’s reading, and that’s reason enough, if there were no other, why I should steer183 clear of him in the future.”
For ten days the medical student confined himself so closely to his studies that he neither saw nor heard anything of either of the men beneath him. At the hours when Bellingham had been accustomed to visit him, he took care to sport his oak, and though he more than once heard a knocking at his outer door, he resolutely184 refused to answer it. One afternoon, however, he was descending185 the stairs when, just as he was passing it, Bellingham’s door flew open, and young Monkhouse Lee came out with his eyes sparkling and a dark flush of anger upon his olive cheeks. Close at his heels followed Bellingham, his fat, unhealthy face all quivering with malignant186 passion.
“You fool!” he hissed187. “You’ll be sorry.”
“Very likely,” cried the other. “Mind what I say. It’s off! I won’t hear of it!”
“You’ve promised, anyhow.”
“Oh, I’ll keep that! I won’t speak. But I’d rather little Eva was in her grave. Once for all, it’s off. She’ll do what I say. We don’t want to see you again.”
So much Smith could not avoid hearing, but he hurried on, for he had no wish to be involved in their dispute. There had been a serious breach188 between them, that was clear enough, and Lee was going to cause the engagement with his sister to be broken off. Smith thought of Hastie’s comparison of the toad and the dove, and was glad to think that the matter was at an end. Bellingham’s face when he was in a passion was not pleasant to look upon. He was not a man to whom an innocent girl could be trusted for life. As he walked, Smith wondered languidly what could have caused the quarrel, and what the promise might be which Bellingham had been so anxious that Monkhouse Lee should keep.
It was the day of the sculling match between Hastie and Mullins, and a stream of men were making their way down to the banks of the Isis. A May sun was shining brightly, and the yellow path was barred with the black shadows of the tall elm-trees. On either side the grey colleges lay back from the road, the hoary189 old mothers of minds looking out from their high, mullioned windows at the tide of young life which swept so merrily past them. Black-clad tutors, prim190 officials, pale reading men, brown-faced, straw-hatted young athletes in white sweaters or many-coloured blazers, all were hurrying towards the blue winding river which curves through the Oxford meadows.
Abercrombie Smith, with the intuition of an old oarsman, chose his position at the point where he knew that the struggle, if there were a struggle, would come. Far off he heard the hum which announced the start, the gathering191 roar of the approach, the thunder of running feet, and the shouts of the men in the boats beneath him. A spray of half-clad, deep-breathing runners shot past him, and craning over their shoulders, he saw Hastie pulling a steady thirty-six, while his opponent, with a jerky forty, was a good boat’s length behind him. Smith gave a cheer for his friend, and pulling out his watch, was starting off again for his chambers, when he felt a touch upon his shoulder, and found that young Monkhouse Lee was beside him.
“I saw you there,” he said, in a timid, deprecating way. “I wanted to speak to you, if you could spare me a half-hour. This cottage is mine. I share it with Harrington of King’s. Come in and have a cup of tea.”
“I must be back presently,” said Smith. “I am hard on the grind at present. But I’ll come in for a few minutes with pleasure. I wouldn’t have come out only Hastie is a friend of mine.”
“So he is of mine. Hasn’t he a beautiful style? Mullins wasn’t in it. But come into the cottage. It’s a little den4 of a place, but it is pleasant to work in during the summer months.”
It was a small, square, white building, with green doors and shutters192, and a rustic193 trellis-work porch, standing194 back some fifty yards from the river’s bank. Inside, the main room was roughly fitted up as a study—deal table, unpainted shelves with books, and a few cheap oleographs upon the wall. A kettle sang upon a spirit-stove, and there were tea things upon a tray on the table.
“Try that chair and have a cigarette,” said Lee. “Let me pour you out a cup of tea. It’s so good of you to come in, for I know that your time is a good deal taken up. I wanted to say to you that, if I were you, I should change my rooms at once.”
“Eh?”
Smith sat staring with a lighted match in one hand and his unlit cigarette in the other.
“Yes; it must seem very extraordinary, and the worst of it is that I cannot give my reasons, for I am under a solemn promise—a very solemn promise. But I may go so far as to say that I don’t think Bellingham is a very safe man to live near. I intend to camp out here as much as I can for a time.”
“Not safe! What do you mean?”
“Ah, that’s what I mustn’t say. But do take my advice, and move your rooms. We had a grand row to-day. You must have heard us, for you came down the stairs.”
“I saw that you had fallen out.”
“He’s a horrible chap, Smith. That is the only word for him. I have had doubts about him ever since that night when he fainted—you remember, when you came down. I taxed him to-day, and he told me things that made my hair rise, and wanted me to stand in with him. I’m not strait-laced, but I am a clergyman’s son, you know, and I think there are some things which are quite beyond the pale. I only thank God that I found him out before it was too late, for he was to have married into my family.”
“This is all very fine, Lee,” said Abercrombie Smith curtly. “But either you are saying a great deal too much or a great deal too little.”
“I give you a warning.”
“If there is real reason for warning, no promise can bind195 you. If I see a rascal196 about to blow a place up with dynamite197 no pledge will stand in my way of preventing him.”
“Ah, but I cannot prevent him, and I can do nothing but warn you.”
“Without saying what you warn me against.”
“Against Bellingham.”
“But that is childish. Why should I fear him, or any man?”
“I can’t tell you. I can only entreat198 you to change your rooms. You are in danger where you are. I don’t even say that Bellingham would wish to injure you. But it might happen, for he is a dangerous neighbour just now.”
“Perhaps I know more than you think,” said Smith, looking keenly at the young man’s boyish, earnest face. “Suppose I tell you that some one else shares Bellingham’s rooms.”
Monkhouse Lee sprang from his chair in uncontrollable excitement.
“You know, then?” he gasped.
“A woman.”
Lee dropped back again with a groan199.
“My lips are sealed,” he said. “I must not speak.”
“Well, anyhow,” said Smith, rising, “it is not likely that I should allow myself to be frightened out of rooms which suit me very nicely. It would be a little too feeble for me to move out all my goods and chattels200 because you say that Bellingham might in some unexplained way do me an injury. I think that I’ll just take my chance, and stay where I am, and as I see that it’s nearly five o’clock, I must ask you to excuse me.”
He bade the young student adieu in a few curt156 words, and made his way homeward through the sweet spring evening feeling half-ruffled, half-amused, as any other strong, unimaginative man might who has been menaced by a vague and shadowy danger.
There was one little indulgence which Abercrombie Smith always allowed himself, however closely his work might press upon him. Twice a week, on the Tuesday and the Friday, it was his invariable custom to walk over to Farlingford, the residence of Dr. Plumptree Peterson, situated201 about a mile and a half out of Oxford. Peterson had been a close friend of Smith’s elder brother Francis, and as he was a bachelor, fairly well-to-do, with a good cellar and a better library, his house was a pleasant goal for a man who was in need of a brisk walk. Twice a week, then, the medical student would swing out there along the dark country roads, and spend a pleasant hour in Peterson’s comfortable study, discussing, over a glass of old port, the gossip of the ‘varsity or the latest developments of medicine or of surgery.
On the day which followed his interview with Monkhouse Lee, Smith shut up his books at a quarter past eight, the hour when he usually started for his friend’s house. As he was leaving his room, however, his eyes chanced to fall upon one of the books which Bellingham had lent him, and his conscience pricked202 him for not having returned it. However repellent the man might be, he should not be treated with discourtesy. Taking the book, he walked downstairs and knocked at his neighbour’s door. There was no answer; but on turning the handle he found that it was unlocked. Pleased at the thought of avoiding an interview, he stepped inside, and placed the book with his card upon the table.
The lamp was turned half down, but Smith could see the details of the room plainly enough. It was all much as he had seen it before—the frieze, the animal-headed gods, the banging crocodile, and the table littered over with papers and dried leaves. The mummy case stood upright against the wall, but the mummy itself was missing. There was no sign of any second occupant of the room, and he felt as he withdrew that he had probably done Bellingham an injustice203. Had he a guilty secret to preserve, he would hardly leave his door open so that all the world might enter.
The spiral stair was as black as pitch, and Smith was slowly making his way down its irregular steps, when he was suddenly conscious that something had passed him in the darkness. There was a faint sound, a whiff of air, a light brushing past his elbow, but so slight that he could scarcely be certain of it. He stopped and listened, but the wind was rustling204 among the ivy outside, and he could hear nothing else.
“Is that you, Styles?” he shouted.
There was no answer, and all was still behind him. It must have been a sudden gust56 of air, for there were crannies and cracks in the old turret. And yet he could almost have sworn that he heard a footfall by his very side. He had emerged into the quadrangle, still turning the matter over in his head, when a man came running swiftly across the smooth-cropped lawn.
“Is that you, Smith?”
“Hullo, Hastie!”
“For God’s sake come at once! Young Lee is drowned! Here’s Harrington of King’s with the news. The doctor is out. You’ll do, but come along at once. There may be life in him.”
“Have you brandy?”
“No.”
“I’ll bring some. There’s a flask205 on my table.”
Smith bounded up the stairs, taking three at a time, seized the flask, and was rushing down with it, when, as he passed Bellingham’s room, his eyes fell upon something which left him gasping206 and staring upon the landing.
The door, which he had closed behind him, was now open, and right in front of him, with the lamp-light shining upon it, was the mummy case. Three minutes ago it had been empty. He could swear to that. Now it framed the lank207 body of its horrible occupant, who stood, grim and stark208, with his black shrivelled face towards the door. The form was lifeless and inert209, but it seemed to Smith as he gazed that there still lingered a lurid210 spark of vitality211, some faint sign of consciousness in the little eyes which lurked in the depths of the hollow sockets. So astounded212 and shaken was he that he had forgotten his errand, and was still staring at the lean, sunken figure when the voice of his friend below recalled him to himself.
“Come on, Smith!” he shouted. “It’s life and death, you know. Hurry up! Now, then,” he added, as the medical student reappeared, “let us do a sprint213. It is well under a mile, and we should do it in five minutes. A human life is better worth running for than a pot.”
Neck and neck they dashed through the darkness, and did not pull up until, panting and spent, they had reached the little cottage by the river. Young Lee, limp and dripping like a broken water-plant, was stretched upon the sofa, the green scum of the river upon his black hair, and a fringe of white foam214 upon his leaden-hued lips. Beside him knelt his fellow-student Harrington, endeavouring to chafe215 some warmth back into his rigid216 limbs.
“I think there’s life in him,” said Smith, with his hand to the lad’s side. “Put your watch glass to his lips. Yes, there’s dimming on it. You take one arm, Hastie. Now work it as I do, and we’ll soon pull him round.”
For ten minutes they worked in silence, inflating217 and depressing the chest of the unconscious man. At the end of that time a shiver ran through his body, his lips trembled, and he opened his eyes. The three students burst out into an irrepressible cheer.
“Wake up, old chap. You’ve frightened us quite enough.”
“Have some brandy. Take a sip61 from the flask.”
“He’s all right now,” said his companion Harrington. “Heavens, what a fright I got! I was reading here, and he had gone for a stroll as far as the river, when I heard a scream and a splash. Out I ran, and by the time that I could find him and fish him out, all life seemed to have gone. Then Simpson couldn’t get a doctor, for he has a game-leg, and I had to run, and I don’t know what I’d have done without you fellows. That’s right, old chap. Sit up.”
Monkhouse Lee had raised himself on his hands, and looked wildly about him.
“What’s up?” he asked. “I’ve been in the water. Ah, yes; I remember.”
A look of fear came into his eyes, and he sank his face into his hands.
“How did you fall in?”
“I didn’t fall in.”
“How, then?”
“I was thrown in. I was standing by the bank, and something from behind picked me up like a feather and hurled me in. I heard nothing, and I saw nothing. But I know what it was, for all that.”
“And so do I,” whispered Smith.
Lee looked up with a quick glance of surprise. “You’ve learned, then!” he said. “You remember the advice I gave you?”
“Yes, and I begin to think that I shall take it.”
“I don’t know what the deuce you fellows are talking about,” said Hastie, “but I think, if I were you, Harrington, I should get Lee to bed at once. It will be time enough to discuss the why and the wherefore when he is a little stronger. I think, Smith, you and I can leave him alone now. I am walking back to college; if you are coming in that direction, we can have a chat.”
But it was little chat that they had upon their homeward path. Smith’s mind was too full of the incidents of the evening, the absence of the mummy from his neighbour’s rooms, the step that passed him on the stair, the reappearance—the extraordinary, inexplicable218 reappearance of the grisly thing—and then this attack upon Lee, corresponding so closely to the previous outrage219 upon another man against whom Bellingham bore a grudge. All this settled in his thoughts, together with the many little incidents which had previously220 turned him against his neighbour, and the singular circumstances under which he was first called in to him. What had been a dim suspicion, a vague, fantastic conjecture221, had suddenly taken form, and stood out in his mind as a grim fact, a thing not to be denied. And yet, how monstrous222 it was! how unheard of! how entirely223 beyond all bounds of human experience. An impartial224 judge, or even the friend who walked by his side, would simply tell him that his eyes had deceived him, that the mummy had been there all the time, that young Lee had tumbled into the river as any other man tumbles into a river, and that a blue pill was the best thing for a disordered liver. He felt that he would have said as much if the positions had been reversed. And yet he could swear that Bellingham was a murderer at heart, and that he wielded225 a weapon such as no man had ever used in all the grim history of crime.
Hastie had branched off to his rooms with a few crisp and emphatic226 comments upon his friend’s unsociability, and Abercrombie Smith crossed the quadrangle to his corner turret with a strong feeling of repulsion for his chambers and their associations. He would take Lee’s advice, and move his quarters as soon as possible, for how could a man study when his ear was ever straining for every murmur227 or footstep in the room below? He observed, as he crossed over the lawn, that the light was still shining in Bellingham’s window, and as he passed up the staircase the door opened, and the man himself looked out at him. With his fat, evil face he was like some bloated spider fresh from the weaving of his poisonous web.
“Good-evening,” said he. “Won’t you come in?”
“No,” cried Smith, fiercely.
“No? You are busy as ever? I wanted to ask you about Lee. I was sorry to hear that there was a rumour228 that something was amiss with him.”
His features were grave, but there was the gleam of a hidden laugh in his eyes as he spoke. Smith saw it, and he could have knocked him down for it.
“You’ll be sorrier still to hear that Monkhouse Lee is doing very well, and is out of all danger,” he answered. “Your hellish tricks have not come off this time. Oh, you needn’t try to brazen229 it out. I know all about it.”
Bellingham took a step back from the angry student, and half-closed the door as if to protect himself.
“You are mad,” he said. “What do you mean? Do you assert that I had anything to do with Lee’s accident?”
“Yes,” thundered Smith. “You and that bag of bones behind you; you worked it between you. I tell you what it is, Master B., they have given up burning folk like you, but we still keep a hangman, and, by George! if any man in this college meets his death while you are here, I’ll have you up, and if you don’t swing for it, it won’t be my fault. You’ll find that your filthy230 Egyptian tricks won’t answer in England.”
“You’re a raving231 lunatic,” said Bellingham.
“All right. You just remember what I say, for you’ll find that I’ll be better than my word.”
The door slammed, and Smith went fuming232 up to his chamber, where he locked the door upon the inside, and spent half the night in smoking his old briar and brooding over the strange events of the evening.
Next morning Abercrombie Smith heard nothing of his neighbour, but Harrington called upon him in the afternoon to say that Lee was almost himself again. All day Smith stuck fast to his work, but in the evening he determined to pay the visit to his friend Dr. Peterson upon which he had started upon the night before. A good walk and a friendly chat would be welcome to his jangled nerves.
Bellingham’s door was shut as he passed, but glancing back when he was some distance from the turret, he saw his neighbour’s head at the window outlined against the lamp-light, his face pressed apparently233 against the glass as he gazed out into the darkness. It was a blessing234 to be away from all contact with him, but if for a few hours, and Smith stepped out briskly, and breathed the soft spring air into his lungs. The half-moon lay in the west between two Gothic pinnacles235, and threw upon the silvered street a dark tracery from the stone-work above. There was a brisk breeze, and light, fleecy clouds drifted swiftly across the sky. Old’s was on the very border of the town, and in five minutes Smith found himself beyond the houses and between the hedges of a May-scented Oxfordshire lane.
It was a lonely and little frequented road which led to his friend’s house. Early as it was, Smith did not meet a single soul upon his way. He walked briskly along until he came to the avenue gate, which opened into the long gravel236 drive leading up to Farlingford. In front of him he could see the cosy237 red light of the windows glimmering238 through the foliage239. He stood with his hand upon the iron latch240 of the swinging gate, and he glanced back at the road along which he had come. Something was coming swiftly down it.
It moved in the shadow of the hedge, silently and furtively241, a dark, crouching figure, dimly visible against the black background. Even as he gazed back at it, it had lessened242 its distance by twenty paces, and was fast closing upon him. Out of the darkness he had a glimpse of a scraggy neck, and of two eyes that will ever haunt him in his dreams. He turned, and with a cry of terror he ran for his life up the avenue. There were the red lights, the signals of safety, almost within a stone’s throw of him. He was a famous runner, but never had he run as he ran that night.
The heavy gate had swung into place behind him, but he heard it dash open again before his pursuer. As he rushed madly and wildly through the night, he could hear a swift, dry patter behind him, and could see, as he threw back a glance, that this horror was bounding like a tiger at his heels, with blazing eyes and one stringy arm outthrown. Thank God, the door was ajar. He could see the thin bar of light which shot from the lamp in the hall. Nearer yet sounded the clatter65 from behind. He heard a hoarse gurgling at his very shoulder. With a shriek he flung himself against the door, slammed and bolted it behind him, and sank half-fainting on to the hall chair.
“My goodness, Smith, what’s the matter?” asked Peterson, appearing at the door of his study.
“Give me some brandy!”
Peterson disappeared, and came rushing out again with a glass and a decanter.
“You need it,” he said, as his visitor drank off what he poured out for him. “Why, man, you are as white as a cheese.”
Smith laid down his glass, rose up, and took a deep breath.
“I am my own man again now,” said he. “I was never so unmanned before. But, with your leave, Peterson, I will sleep here to-night, for I don’t think I could face that road again except by daylight. It’s weak, I know, but I can’t help it.”
Peterson looked at his visitor with a very questioning eye.
“Of course you shall sleep here if you wish. I’ll tell Mrs. Burney to make up the spare bed. Where are you off to now?”
“Come up with me to the window that overlooks the door. I want you to see what I have seen.”
They went up to the window of the upper hall whence they could look down upon the approach to the house. The drive and the fields on either side lay quiet and still, bathed in the peaceful moonlight.
“Well, really, Smith,” remarked Peterson, “it is well that I know you to be an abstemious243 man. What in the world can have frightened you?”
“I’ll tell you presently. But where can it have gone? Ah, now look, look! See the curve of the road just beyond your gate.”
“Yes, I see; you needn’t pinch my arm off. I saw someone pass. I should say a man, rather thin, apparently, and tall, very tall. But what of him? And what of yourself? You are still shaking like an aspen leaf.”
“I have been within hand-grip of the devil, that’s all. But come down to your study, and I shall tell you the whole story.”
He did so. Under the cheery lamplight, with a glass of wine on the table beside him, and the portly form and florid face of his friend in front, he narrated244, in their order, all the events, great and small, which had formed so singular a chain, from the night on which he had found Bellingham fainting in front of the mummy case until his horrid experience of an hour ago.
“There now,” he said as he concluded, “that’s the whole black business. It is monstrous and incredible, but it is true.”
Dr. Plumptree Peterson sat for some time in silence with a very puzzled expression upon his face.
“I never heard of such a thing in my life, never!” he said at last. “You have told me the facts. Now tell me your inferences.”
“You can draw your own.”
“But I should like to hear yours. You have thought over the matter, and I have not.”
“Well, it must be a little vague in detail, but the main points seem to me to be clear enough. This fellow Bellingham, in his Eastern studies, has got hold of some infernal secret by which a mummy—or possibly only this particular mummy—can be temporarily brought to life. He was trying this disgusting business on the night when he fainted. No doubt the sight of the creature moving had shaken his nerve, even though he had expected it. You remember that almost the first words he said were to call out upon himself as a fool. Well, he got more hardened afterwards, and carried the matter through without fainting. The vitality which he could put into it was evidently only a passing thing, for I have seen it continually in its case as dead as this table. He has some elaborate process, I fancy, by which he brings the thing to pass. Having done it, he naturally bethought him that he might use the creature as an agent. It has intelligence and it has strength. For some purpose he took Lee into his confidence; but Lee, like a decent Christian245, would have nothing to do with such a business. Then they had a row, and Lee vowed246 that he would tell his sister of Bellingham’s true character. Bellingham’s game was to prevent him, and he nearly managed it, by setting this creature of his on his track. He had already tried its powers upon another man—Norton—towards whom he had a grudge. It is the merest chance that he has not two murders upon his soul. Then, when I taxed him with the matter, he had the strongest reasons for wishing to get me out of the way before I could convey my knowledge to anyone else. He got his chance when I went out, for he knew my habits, and where I was bound for. I have had a narrow shave, Peterson, and it is mere163 luck you didn’t find me on your doorstep in the morning. I’m not a nervous man as a rule, and I never thought to have the fear of death put upon me as it was to-night.”
“My dear boy, you take the matter too seriously,” said his companion. “Your nerves are out of order with your work, and you make too much of it. How could such a thing as this stride about the streets of Oxford, even at night, without being seen?”
“It has been seen. There is quite a scare in the town about an escaped ape, as they imagine the creature to be. It is the talk of the place.”
“Well, it’s a striking chain of events. And yet, my dear fellow, you must allow that each incident in itself is capable of a more natural explanation.”
“What! even my adventure of to-night?”
“Certainly. You come out with your nerves all unstrung, and your head full of this theory of yours. Some gaunt, half-famished tramp steals after you, and seeing you run, is emboldened247 to pursue you. Your fears and imagination do the rest.”
“It won’t do, Peterson; it won’t do.”
“And again, in the instance of your finding the mummy case empty, and then a few moments later with an occupant, you know that it was lamplight, that the lamp was half turned down, and that you had no special reason to look hard at the case. It is quite possible that you may have overlooked the creature in the first instance.”
“No, no; it is out of the question.”
“And then Lee may have fallen into the river, and Norton been garrotted. It is certainly a formidable indictment248 that you have against Bellingham; but if you were to place it before a police magistrate249, he would simply laugh in your face.”
“I know he would. That is why I mean to take the matter into my own hands.”
“Eh?”
“Yes; I feel that a public duty rests upon me, and, besides, I must do it for my own safety, unless I choose to allow myself to be hunted by this beast out of the college, and that would be a little too feeble. I have quite made up my mind what I shall do. And first of all, may I use your paper and pens for an hour?”
“Most certainly. You will find all that you want upon that side table.”
Abercrombie Smith sat down before a sheet of foolscap, and for an hour, and then for a second hour his pen travelled swiftly over it. Page after page was finished and tossed aside while his friend leaned back in his arm-chair, looking across at him with patient curiosity. At last, with an exclamation250 of satisfaction, Smith sprang to his feet, gathered his papers up into order, and laid the last one upon Peterson’s desk.
“Kindly sign this as a witness,” he said.
“A witness? Of what?”
“Of my signature, and of the date. The date is the most important. Why, Peterson, my life might hang upon it.”
“My dear Smith, you are talking wildly. Let me beg you to go to bed.”
“On the contrary, I never spoke so deliberately251 in my life. And I will promise to go to bed the moment you have signed it.”
“But what is it?”
“It is a statement of all that I have been telling you to-night. I wish you to witness it.”
“Certainly,” said Peterson, signing his name under that of his companion. “There you are! But what is the idea?”
“You will kindly retain it, and produce it in case I am arrested.”
“Arrested? For what?”
“For murder. It is quite on the cards. I wish to be ready for every event. There is only one course open to me, and I am determined to take it.”
“For Heaven’s sake, don’t do anything rash!”
“Believe me, it would be far more rash to adopt any other course. I hope that we won’t need to bother you, but it will ease my mind to know that you have this statement of my motives252. And now I am ready to take your advice and to go to roost, for I want to be at my best in the morning.”
Abercrombie Smith was not an entirely pleasant man to have as an enemy. Slow and easytempered, he was formidable when driven to action. He brought to every purpose in life the same deliberate resoluteness253 which had distinguished254 him as a scientific student. He had laid his studies aside for a day, but he intended that the day should not be wasted. Not a word did he say to his host as to his plans, but by nine o’clock he was well on his way to Oxford.
In the High Street he stopped at Clifford’s, the gun-maker’s, and bought a heavy revolver, with a box of central-fire cartridges255. Six of them he slipped into the chambers, and half-cocking the weapon, placed it in the pocket of his coat. He then made his way to Hastie’s rooms, where the big oarsman was lounging over his breakfast, with the Sporting Times propped up against the coffeepot.
“Hullo! What’s up?” he asked. “Have some coffee?”
“No, thank you. I want you to come with me, Hastie, and do what I ask you.”
“Certainly, my boy.”
“And bring a heavy stick with you.”
“Hullo!” Hastie stared. “Here’s a hunting-crop that would fell an ox.”
“One other thing. You have a box of amputating knives. Give me the longest of them.”
“There you are. You seem to be fairly on the war trail. Anything else?”
“No; that will do.” Smith placed the knife inside his coat, and led the way to the quadrangle. “We are neither of us chickens, Hastie,” said he. “I think I can do this job alone, but I take you as a precaution. I am going to have a little talk with Bellingham. If I have only him to deal with, I won’t, of course, need you. If I shout, however, up you come, and lam out with your whip as hard as you can lick. Do you understand?”
“All right. I’ll come if I hear you bellow256.”
“Stay here, then. It may be a little time, but don’t budge257 until I come down.”
“I’m a fixture258.”
Smith ascended the stairs, opened Bellingham’s door and stepped in. Bellingham was seated behind his table, writing. Beside him, among his litter of strange possessions, towered the mummy case, with its sale number 249 still stuck upon its front, and its hideous259 occupant stiff and stark within it. Smith looked very deliberately round him, closed the door, locked it, took the key from the inside, and then stepping across to the fireplace, struck a match and set the fire alight. Bellingham sat staring, with amazement260 and rage upon his bloated face.
“Well, really now, you make yourself at home,” he gasped.
Smith sat himself deliberately down, placing his watch upon the table, drew out his pistol, cocked it, and laid it in his lap. Then he took the long amputating knife from his bosom, and threw it down in front of Bellingham.
“Now, then,” said he, “just get to work and cut up that mummy.”
“Oh, is that it?” said Bellingham with a sneer261.
“Yes, that is it. They tell me that the law can’t touch you. But I have a law that will set matters straight. If in five minutes you have not set to work, I swear by the God who made me that I will put a bullet through your brain!”
“You would murder me?”
Bellingham had half risen, and his face was the colour of putty.
“Yes.”
“And for what?”
“To stop your mischief262. One minute has gone.”
“But what have I done?”
“I know and you know.”
“This is mere bullying263.”
“Two minutes are gone.”
“But you must give reasons. You are a madman—a dangerous madman. Why should I destroy my own property? It is a valuable mummy.”
“You must cut it up, and you must burn it.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Four minutes are gone.”
Smith took up the pistol and he looked towards Bellingham with an inexorable face. As the second-hand264 stole round, he raised his hand, and the finger twitched265 upon the trigger.
“There! there! I’ll do it!” screamed Bellingham.
In frantic266 haste he caught up the knife and hacked267 at the figure of the mummy, ever glancing round to see the eye and the weapon of his terrible visitor bent upon him. The creature crackled and snapped under every stab of the keen blade. A thick yellow dust rose up from it. Spices and dried essences rained down upon the floor. Suddenly, with a rending268 crack, its backbone269 snapped asunder270, and it fell, a brown heap of sprawling271 limbs, upon the floor.
“Now into the fire!” said Smith.
The flames leaped and roared as the dried and tinderlike debris272 was piled upon it. The little room was like the stoke-hole of a steamer and the sweat ran down the faces of the two men; but still the one stooped and worked, while the other sat watching him with a set face. A thick, fat smoke oozed273 out from the fire, and a heavy smell of burned rosin and singed274 hair filled the air. In a quarter of an hour a few charred and brittle275 sticks were all that was left of Lot No. 249.
“Perhaps that will satisfy you,” snarled276 Bellingham, with hate and fear in his little grey eyes as he glanced back at his tormenter.
“No; I must make a clean sweep of all your materials. We must have no more devil’s tricks. In with all these leaves! They may have something to do with it.”
“And what now?” asked Bellingham, when the leaves also had been added to the blaze.
“Now the roll of papyrus which you had on the table that night. It is in that drawer, I think.”
“No, no,” shouted Bellingham. “Don’t burn that! Why, man, you don’t know what you do. It is unique; it contains wisdom which is nowhere else to be found.”
“Out with it!”
“But look here, Smith, you can’t really mean it. I’ll share the knowledge with you. I’ll teach you all that is in it. Or, stay, let me only copy it before you burn it!”
Smith stepped forward and turned the key in the drawer. Taking out the yellow, curled roll of paper, he threw it into the fire, and pressed it down with his heel. Bellingham screamed, and grabbed at it; but Smith pushed him back, and stood over it until it was reduced to a formless grey ash.
“Now, Master B.,” said he, “I think I have pretty well drawn your teeth. You’ll hear from me again, if you return to your old tricks. And now good-morning, for I must go back to my studies.”
And such is the narrative of Abercrombie Smith as to the singular events which occurred in Old College, Oxford, in the spring of ‘84. As Bellingham left the university immediately afterwards, and was last heard of in the Soudan, there is no one who can contradict his statement. But the wisdom of men is small, and the ways of nature are strange, and who shall put a bound to the dark things which may be found by those who seek for them?
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1
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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6
warp
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| vt.弄歪，使翘曲，使不正常，歪曲，使有偏见 | |
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7
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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8
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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10
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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11
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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13
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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14
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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15
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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16
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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17
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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18
hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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19
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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20
grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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21
pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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23
mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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24
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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25
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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26
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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27
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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28
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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29
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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30
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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31
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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32
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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33
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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34
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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40
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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41
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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42
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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43
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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44
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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45
reptilian
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| adj.（像）爬行动物的；（像）爬虫的；卑躬屈节的；卑鄙的n.两栖动物；卑劣的人 | |
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46
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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47
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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48
cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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49
prattled
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的过去式和过去分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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50
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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51
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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52
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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53
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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54
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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55
strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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57
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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58
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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59
freshman
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| n.大学一年级学生(可兼指男女) | |
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60
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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61
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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62
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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63
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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64
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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65
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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66
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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67
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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68
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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69
monarchs
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| 君主，帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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70
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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71
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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72
intake
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| n.吸入，纳入；进气口，入口 | |
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73
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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74
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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75
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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76
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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77
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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78
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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79
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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80
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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81
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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82
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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83
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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84
frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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85
deities
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| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
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86
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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87
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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88
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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89
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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90
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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91
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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92
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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93
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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94
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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96
papyrus
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| n.古以纸草制成之纸 | |
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97
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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98
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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99
expiration
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| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
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100
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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101
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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102
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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103
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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104
creases
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
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105
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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106
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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107
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
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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109
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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110
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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111
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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112
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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113
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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114
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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115
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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116
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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117
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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118
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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119
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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120
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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121
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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122
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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123
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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124
abdomen
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| n.腹，下腹(胸部到腿部的部分) | |
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125
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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126
embalmer
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| 尸体防腐者 | |
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127
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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128
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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129
auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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130
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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131
talons
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| n.（尤指猛禽的）爪( talon的名词复数 )；（如爪般的）手指；爪状物；锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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132
bitumen
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| n.沥青 | |
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133
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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134
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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135
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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136
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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137
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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138
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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139
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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140
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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141
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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142
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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143
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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144
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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145
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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146
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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147
inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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148
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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149
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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150
innuendoes
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| n.影射的话( innuendo的名词复数 )；讽刺的话；含沙射影；暗讽 | |
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151
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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152
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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153
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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154
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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155
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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156
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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157
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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158
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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159
lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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160
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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161
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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162
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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163
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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164
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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165
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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166
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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167
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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168
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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169
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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170
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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171
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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172
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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173
cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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174
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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175
freshmen
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| n.（中学或大学的）一年级学生( freshman的名词复数 ) | |
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176
hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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177
athletics
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| n.运动，体育，田径运动 | |
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178
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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179
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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180
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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181
bovine
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| adj.牛的；n.牛 | |
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182
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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183
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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184
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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185
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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186
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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187
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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188
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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189
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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190
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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191
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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192
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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193
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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194
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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195
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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196
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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197
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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198
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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199
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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200
chattels
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| n.动产，奴隶( chattel的名词复数 ) | |
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201
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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202
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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203
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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204
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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205
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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206
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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207
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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208
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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209
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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210
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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211
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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212
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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213
sprint
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| n.短距离赛跑；vi. 奋力而跑，冲刺；vt.全速跑过 | |
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214
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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215
chafe
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| v.擦伤；冲洗；惹怒 | |
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216
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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217
inflating
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| v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的现在分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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218
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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219
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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220
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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221
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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222
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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223
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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224
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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225
wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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226
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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227
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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228
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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229
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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230
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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231
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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232
fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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233
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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234
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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235
pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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236
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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237
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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238
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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239
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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240
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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241
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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242
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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243
abstemious
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| adj.有节制的，节俭的 | |
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244
narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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245
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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246
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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247
emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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248
indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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249
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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250
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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251
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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252
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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253
resoluteness
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254
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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255
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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256
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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257
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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258
fixture
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| n.固定设备；预定日期；比赛时间；定期存款 | |
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259
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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260
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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261
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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262
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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263
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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264
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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265
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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266
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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267
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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268
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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269
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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270
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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271
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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272
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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273
oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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274
singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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275
brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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276
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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