Outside it was dull and chill with a thick yellow fog pervading4 the atmosphere, but within the great ball-room it was like fairy-land with the brilliant light of the lamps, the profusion5 of bright flowers, and the gay dresses worn by the ladies. The orchestra hidden behind a gorgeous screen of tropical plants was playing the latest waltz, "A Friend of Mine," and the sigh and sob6 of the melody as it stole softly through the room seemed to inspire the dancers with a voluptuous7 languor8 as they glided9 over the polished floor. The soft frou-frou of women's dresses mingled10 with the light laughter of young girls and the whispered confidences of their partners, while over all dominated the haunting melody with its weird11 modulations and suggestions of sensuous12 passion.
Near the door of the ball-room a young man of about thirty years of age was leaning against the wall in a lazy attitude, idly watching the dancers swinging past him; but judging from the preoccupied13 expression of his face his thoughts were evidently far away. He was tall, dark-haired, with a short cut well-trimmed beard, piercing dark eyes, a firmly compressed mouth, and judging from his swarthy complexion14 together with a certain crisp curl in his hair he evidently had some negro blood in his veins15. Suddenly he was roused from his meditations16 by a touch on his shoulder, and on glancing up saw before him a stout17 elderly gentleman with white hair, a ruddy face, and rather a Silenus cast of countenance18.
The one was Spenser Ellersby, only son of a wealthy West Indian planter, and the other Horace Marton a well-known society man generally called The Town-crier, from the fact that he knew all the current scandals and retailed19 them with elaborate embellishments to his numerous circle of friends.
"Hey! Ellersby, my boy," said The Town-crier, on the alert to acquire fresh information "have you come back once more to England, home and beauty--hey? been all over the world I suppose, hey?--going to publish a book of travels--hey?"
"Not me," replied Ellersby in the slow, languid manner habitual20 to him, "everyone who goes half-a-dozen miles now-a-days publishes a book of travels under some fantastic title. I prefer to be renowned21 for not having done so."
"Broke no new ground--hey?"
"No," indifferently. "I haven't the instincts of Columbus so the old ground was good enough for me. I've done Africa in a superficial manner, called on our American cousins, passed the same compliment to our Australian ditto, in fact done the usual thing with the usual result."
"Hey! what's that?"
"A sense of being bored--I agree with Voltaire to a certain extent, 'this is the best of all possible worlds,' but one does get and little tired of it--however I have satisfied your curiosity, now return the compliment. I've been away from England for two years so know nothing of life in town--come unfold--tell me all--scandals, deaths, marriages, divorces, in fact all the gossip of the hour."
This was an occupation after The Town-crier's own heart, so he launched out into a long description of folly22 and fashion varied23 by sermons and scandal, which being spiced with a little maliciousness24 proved quite an amusing discourse25. Ellersby listened in silence with a quiet smile on his lips, every now and then giving vent26 to an ejaculation as he heard some special morsel27 of news.
"You ought to write your memoirs28, Marton," he said drily, "they would be as gossiping as Pepys, as scandalous De Grammont, and as amusing as either, but go on--anything more? Who are the new beauties?"
"Hey! oh! one was here to-night, Lady Balscombe."
"What! old Balscombe married," said Ellersby in a surprised tone. "I thought he loved no one but himself--so!--and who is my lady?"
"That's what everyone wants to know," replied Marton eagerly, "he picked her up down in the country somewhere, but she's got no pedigree--no money, no talents--nothing but personal beauty."
"Which is worth all the rest put together, to a woman," interrupted Ellersby cynically29. "What is she like?"
The Town-crier reeled off an auctioneer-like description at once.
"Tall, fair, blue eyes, beautiful complexion, magnificent figure, and the devil's own temper."
"Nice set of qualifications, especially the latter," murmured Ellersby. "Balscombe fond of her?"
"Hey! oh yes--madly! won't let her out of his sight, but he had to to-night as he's off down to his place in Berkshire on business, tried to make her ladyship come to but she wouldn't because of this dance--good Lord--fancy a dance at this time of the year!--but Kerstoke's wife was always slightly cracked!"
"Does Lady Balscombe reciprocate30 her husband's adoration31?"
Marton raised his eyebrows32, rubbed his hands and leered significantly.
"Not exactly! hey!" he replied chuckling33. "Calliston is first favourite there."
"Eh!--the deuce--I thought he was in love with old Balscombe's ward34, Miss Penfold."
"So he is--but he makes love to the wife just to keep his hand in--I wouldn't be surprised if it ended in the Divorce Court."
"Well you are generally right in your surmises," retorted Ellersby, "but what would Miss Penfold say to that?"
"Hey! oh, she'd be glad," replied Marton, "bless you she cares more for Myles Desmond's little finger than she does for the whole body of Calliston."
"Oh I know Myles," said Ellersby promptly35, "a rattling36 good fellow, was with him at Cambridge but we somehow never hit it off--trying to make a fortune by his pen I hear."
"Yes! and hasn't made a penny yet, so he acts as secretary to his cousin Lord Calliston--he's next heir to the title you know, hey!"
"Much chance he'll have of it," replied Ellersby, contemptuously. "Calliston's sure to marry and have heirs, unless he kills himself in the meantime with drink--but, to revert37 to our former conversation--the Balscombe ménage seems slightly mixed."
"Hey! rather--it stands this way," explained Marton, eagerly; "Balscombe's jealous of his wife on account of Calliston--Lady B. is jealous of Calliston on account of Miss Penfold, and that young lady does not care two straws for the whole lot of them in comparison to Myles Desmond."
"Sounds like the second act of a French play," murmured Ellersby, yawning. "Well, when I see Lady Balscombe, I'll give you my opinion of her looks; meantime, you must be dry after all that talking, so come and have a drink."
"Where are you stopping?" asked Marton, as they went to the supper-room.
"Guelph Hotel, Jermyn Street," said Ellersby, "only for a few days till I get my rooms fixed38 up; I've brought such a lot of things home that my chambers39 look like an old curiosity shop. What are you having?"
"Champagne," replied Marton. "Oh, I say, dear boy," seeing his companion with a small glass full of brandy, "that looks bad at this hour! Hey--you haven't----
"No, I haven't," interrupted Ellersby impatiently, "I'm only taking this to-night because I don't feel up to the mark."
Marton said no more, but after parting with his companion went back to the ball-room, and meeting a friend, confided41 to him that poor Ellersby was going to the dogs through drink.
"Brandy neat, dear boy, hey!" said the old reprobate42. "Bad habits these young fellows pick up abroad, hey! look used up, by Jove! Gal43 in it, dear boy, hey!--oh, shocking!"
So The Town-crier evidently did not intend to give the returned wanderer a good character.
Ellersby was now tired of the ball, so bade good-night to his hostess, who was a queer, thin little woman, wearing a wig44, a low-cut dress, and many jewels, giving one the general impression that she was mostly bones and diamonds.
After taking leave of this bizarre figure Ellersby put on his coat and went outside into the street, where he stood for a few moments, undecided whether to take a cab to his hotel or to walk. The fog was very thick, and the gas-lamps shone through it like dull yellow stars, while the chill breezes of the night seemed to penetrate45 the body of the young man, accustomed as he had been of late to tropical climates.
In spite of the apparent discomforts46 offered by a walk at such a time, Ellersby determined47 to risk it, thinking it would give him a certain amount of amusement, akin40 somewhat to the unravelling48 of a puzzle, to find his way through the fog to Jermyn Street. Smiling at the oddity of the idea of finding pleasure in a cold walk on a foggy night, he lighted a cigar and, buttoning up his coat, took his way down Park Lane towards Piccadilly.
There is a strange feeling in the complete isolation49 one experiences in fog-land--the thick yellow mist hiding everything under its jealous veil until the pedestrian finds himself adrift as it were on a lonely sea, and though on every side he is environed by millions of human beings, yet the fog creates for the moment a solitude50 as in those enchanted51 cities of the Arabian Nights.
Ellersby managed to find his way to Piccadilly, and was soon swinging along the pavement at a good round pace. Every now and then ragged52 figures with sinister53 faces would loom54 suddenly out of the fog on the watch for unwary wanderers, but the nomadic55 life of Ellersby having wonderfully sharpened his faculties56, he was always on his guard against the evil advances of these night-birds. Occasionally he could hear a cab drive slowly past, the driver cautiously steering57 his horse down the familiar street, which as if by magic had suddenly assumed an unreal appearance, transforming Piccadilly into a vague immensity resembling the Steppes of Russia.
With his ears alert for every sound, and his eyes peering anxiously into the veil of grey mist, Ellersby hurried along, managed to cross the street, and, by some miracle of dexterity58 which he placed at once to the credit of instinct, turned down St. James' Street, and it was here his first mishap59 occurred, for just as he rounded the corner he came against a young man hastening in the opposite direction at a rapid pace.
"I beg your pardon," said the stranger quickly, "but the fog is so dense60 I could not see--excuse me."
And he was about to hurry away, when Ellersby, recognising the voice, stopped him.
"Wait a moment, Desmond," he said, gaily61, "and give an old friend a word."
Desmond seemed annoyed at being recognised, and looking sharply at the face of the other gave vent to an ejaculation of surprise, which, however, had not a very delighted ring in it.
"Ellersby, by Jove!" he said in a hesitating manner, "I thought you were in Persia or in Patagonia. Who the deuce would have expected to see you in Piccadilly on such a devil of a night?"
"I've been to a ball," explained Ellersby, "and thought I'd walk back to my hotel just to renew my acquaintance with London fogs. It was a mad freak, but amusing. Come to my hotel and have a nightcap."
"Thanks, awfully," said Desmond, hurriedly, "but I can't. I'm--I'm in a hurry. Where are you stopping?"
"Guelph Hotel, Jermyn Street."
"Eh!" said Desmond, with a start. "Jermyn Street--all right, look you up to-morrow."
"Wait a moment," observed Ellersby, detaining him. "Tell me, where is Calliston? I want to see him."
"Not much chance," replied Desmond, shaking his head, "he's--gone off to-night down to Shoreham--yachting, you know. Wants to go to the Azores; well, see you to-morrow; good-night--I'm in a deuce of a hurry."
He spoke62 rapidly, with nervous agitation63 quite at variance64 with his usual demeanour, as Ellersby knew, and as he went off quickly and was swallowed up by the fog, the latter resumed his walk with a quiet laugh.
"A woman, I bet," he said to himself as he made his way cautiously along. "Fancy Venus on such a discouraging night as this--the rosy65 mists enveloping66 the goddess are charming, but a London fog--ah, bah!"
He stood on the pavement, wondering how he could strike Jermyn Street, and was about to attempt to cross on the chance of his luck guiding him, when suddenly the tall form of a policeman loomed67 out of the fog and flashed the bright light of a lantern on him.
"Ah, just in time, policeman," said Ellersby in a relieved tone. "I've got slightly astray in this fog, so you must guide me to the Guelph Hotel."
"Just across the street, sir," replied the policeman, touching68 his helmet, and he stepped off the pavement, followed by Ellersby.
They soon got into Jermyn Street, and went along the left-hand side towards the hotel. Though the fog was still thick, Ellersby in the vanity of his heart thought he could now find the way for himself. He gave the policeman half-a-crown, and going along a few yards went up what he supposed were the steps of the hotel. The policeman stood in the same place, ready to render his services as a guide, should he be required, when suddenly he was startled by a cry from Ellersby.
The young man had gone up the wrong steps, and was standing69 on the top when the policeman hurried up, while at his feet was a bundle of what looked like clothes.
"I say, policeman," said Ellersby in an agitated70 tone, "here is a woman--I believe she's dead."
"Dead drunk, more like, sir," replied the policeman, sceptically, ascending71 the steps.
"No," said Ellersby, "I have shaken her and she will not waken. Her face is quite cold--just look!"
The policeman, somewhat startled out of his professional phlegm, turned the light down on the figure of the woman, which was lying in the doorway72. It was that of a female with a fair face and golden hair, dressed in a long sealskin jacket, and a silk dress, with a fashionably shaped hat on her head. Her well-gloved hands were tightly clenched73, and her eyes, wide open, were staring straight up at the horrified74 discoverers. There did not seem to be any wound or blood about, but her face was swollen75, and appeared to be of a dark purple colour, with the tongue slightly protruding76 between the teeth. It was not by any means a pleasant sight, and both men felt a sensation of horror as they looked at the body.
"She's dead, sure enough, sir," said the policeman at length, and blew a whistle. To this call there was an answer, and soon another policeman made his appearance.
"She looks as if she had been strangled," said Ellersby, who was much upset by the discovery, "her face is so purple and her tongue protruding."
The first policeman bent77 down and looked at the neck of the corpse78, but could see no marks of violence, so he shook his head.
"Don't know, sir," he answered. "It looks a queer sort of case. We'll take the body to the hospital, and see what the doctors say."
In the meantime the other policeman had gone for aid, and in a few minutes two more made their appearance with a stretcher, upon which the body was placed and taken to the nearest hospital.
In accordance with a request made by the policeman, Ellersby gave his card, so that he could be called on to appear at the inquest, and then went to the Guelph Hotel, which was only a short distance up the street.
When he arrived he had a glass of brandy neat, for he felt quite sick with the horrible sight he had witnessed, and all through the night his sleep was broken by visions of the beautiful face distorted with agony.
In truth it was a tragical79 termination to a night's pleasure.
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1
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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10
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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14
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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16
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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18
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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retailed
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| vt.零售（retail的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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maliciousness
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| [法] 恶意 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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reciprocate
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| v.往复运动；互换；回报，酬答 | |
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adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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33
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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34
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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revert
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| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
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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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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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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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unravelling
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| 解开，拆散，散开( unravel的现在分词 )； 阐明； 澄清； 弄清楚 | |
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49
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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52
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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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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nomadic
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| adj.流浪的；游牧的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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57
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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59
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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63
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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66
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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68
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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70
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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71
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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72
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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73
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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76
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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77
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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78
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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79
tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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