‘When I again came to myself I was lying in the house of an American missionary3 named Clements. I had been found, at early dawn, stark4 naked, in a Cairo street, and picked up for dead. Judging from appearances I must have wandered for miles, all through the night. Whence I had come, or whither I was going, none could tell,—I could not tell myself. For weeks I hovered5 between life and death. The kindness of Mr and Mrs Clements was not to be measured by words. I was brought to their house a penniless, helpless, battered6 stranger, and they gave me all they had to offer, without money and without price,—with no expectation of an earthly reward. Let no one pretend that there is no Christian7 charity under the sun. The debt I owed that man and woman I was never able to repay. Before I was properly myself again, and in a position to offer some adequate testimony8 of the gratitude9 I felt, Mrs Clements was dead, drowned during an excursion on the Nile, and her husband had departed on a missionary expedition into Central Africa, from which he never returned.
‘Although, in a measure, my physical health returned, for months after I had left the roof of my hospitable10 hosts, I was in a state of semi-imbecility. I suffered from a species of aphasia11. For days together I was speechless, and could remember nothing,—not even my own name. And, when that stage had passed, and I began to move more freely among my fellows, for years I was but a wreck12 of my former self. I was visited, at all hours of the day and night, by frightful—I know not whether to call them visions, they were real enough to me, but since they were visible to no one but myself, perhaps that is the word which best describes them. Their presence invariably plunged13 me into a state of abject14 terror, against which I was unable to even make a show of fighting. To such an extent did they embitter15 my existence, that I voluntarily placed myself under the treatment of an expert in mental pathology. For a considerable period of time I was under his constant supervision16, but the visitations were as inexplicable17 to him as they were to me.
‘By degrees, however, they became rarer and rarer, until at last I flattered myself that I had once more become as other men. After an interval18, to make sure, I devoted19 myself to politics. Thenceforward I have lived, as they phrase it, in the public eye. Private life, in any peculiar20 sense of the term, I have had none.’
Mr Lessingham ceased. His tale was not uninteresting, and, to say the least of it, was curious. But I still was at a loss to understand what it had to do with me, or what was the purport21 of his presence in my room. Since he remained silent, as if the matter, so far as he was concerned, was at an end, I told him so.
‘I presume, Mr Lessingham, that all this is but a prelude22 to the play. At present I do not see where it is that I come in.’
Still for some seconds he was silent. When he spoke23 his voice was grave and sombre, as if he were burdened by a weight of woe25.
‘Unfortunately, as you put it, all this has been but a prelude to the play. Were it not so I should not now stand in such pressing want of the services of a confidential26 agent,—that is, of an experienced man of the world, who has been endowed by nature with phenomenal perceptive27 faculties28, and in whose capacity and honour I can place the completest confidence.’
‘I hope your estimate of me is not too high.’
‘I hope not,—for my sake, as well as for your own. I have heard great things of you. If ever man stood in need of all that human skill and acumen30 can do for him, I certainly am he.’
His words aroused my curiosity. I was conscious of feeling more interested than heretofore.
‘I will do my best for you. Man can do no more. Only give my best a trial.’
‘I will. At once.’
He looked at me long and earnestly. Then, leaning forward, he said, lowering his voice perhaps unconsciously,
‘The fact is, Mr Champnell, that quite recently events have happened which threaten to bridge the chasm31 of twenty years, and to place me face to face with that plague spot of the past. At this moment I stand in imminent32 peril33 of becoming again the wretched thing I was when I fled from that den24 of all the devils. It is to guard me against this that I have come to you. I want you to unravel34 the tangled35 thread which threatens to drag me to my doom,—and, when unravelled36 to sunder37 it—for ever, if God wills!—in twain.’
‘Explain.’
To be frank, for the moment I thought him mad. He went on.
‘Three weeks ago, when I returned late one night from a sitting in the House of Commons, I found, on my study table, a sheet of paper on which there was a representation—marvellously like!—of the creature into which, as it seemed to me, the woman of the songs was transformed as I clutched her throat between my hands. The mere38 sight of it brought back one of those visitations of which I have told you, and which I thought I had done with for ever,—I was convulsed by an agony of fear, thrown into a state approximating to a paralysis39 both of mind and body.’
‘But why?’
‘I cannot tell you. I only know that I have never dared to allow my thoughts to recur40 to that last dread41 scene, lest the mere recurrence42 should drive me mad.’
‘What was this you found upon your study table,—merely a drawing?’
‘It was a representation, produced by what process I cannot say, which was so wonderfully, so diabolically43, like the original, that for a moment I thought the thing itself was on my table.’
‘Who put it there?’
‘That is precisely44 what I wish you to find out,—what I wish you to make it your instant business to ascertain45. I have found the thing, under similar circumstances, on three separate occasions, on my study table,—and each time it has had on me the same hideous46 effect.’
‘Each time after you have returned from a late sitting in the House of Commons?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Where are these—what shall I call them—delineations?’
‘That, again, I cannot tell you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I say. Each time, when I recovered, the thing had vanished.’
‘Sheet of paper and all?’
‘Apparently48,—though on that point I could not be positive. You will understand that my study table is apt to be littered with sheets of paper, and I could not absolutely determine that the thing had not stared at me from one of those. The delineation47 itself, to use your word, certainly had vanished.’
I began to suspect that this was a case rather for a doctor than for a man of my profession. And hinted as much.
‘Don’t you think it is possible, Mr Lessingham, that you have been overworking yourself—that you have been driving your brain too hard, and that you have been the victim of an optical delusion49?’
‘I thought so myself; I may say that I almost hoped so. But wait till I have finished. You will find that there is no loophole in that direction.’
He appeared to be recalling events in their due order. His manner was studiously cold,—as if he were endeavouring, despite the strangeness of his story, to impress me with the literal accuracy of each syllable50 he uttered.
‘The night before last, on returning home, I found in my study a stranger.’
‘A stranger?’
‘Yes.—In other words, a burglar.’
‘A burglar?—I see.—Go on.’
He had paused. His demeanour was becoming odder and odder.
‘On my entry he was engaged in forcing an entry into my bureau. I need hardly say that I advanced to seize him. But—I could not.’
‘You could not?—How do you mean you could not?’
‘I mean simply what I say. You must understand that this was no ordinary felon52. Of what nationality he was I cannot tell you. He only uttered two words, and they were certainly in English, but apart from that he was dumb. He wore no covering on his head or feet. Indeed, his only garment was a long dark flowing cloak which, as it fluttered about him, revealed that his limbs were bare.’
‘An unique costume for a burglar.’
‘The instant I saw him I realised that he was in some way connected with that adventure in the Rue53 de Rabagas. What he said and did, proved it to the hilt.’
‘What did he say and do?’
‘As I approached to effect his capture, he pronounced aloud two words which recalled that awful scene the recollection of which always lingers in my brain, and of which I never dare to permit myself to think. Their very utterance54 threw me into a sort of convulsion.’
‘What were the words?’
Mr Lessingham opened his mouth,—and shut it. A marked change took place in the expression of his countenance55. His eyes became fixed56 and staring,—resembling the glassy orbs57 of the somnambulist. For a moment I feared that he was going to give me an object lesson in the ‘visitations’ of which I had heard so much. I rose, with a view of offering him assistance. He motioned me back.
‘Thank you.—It will pass away.’
His voice was dry and husky,—unlike his usual silvern tones. After an uncomfortable interval he managed to continue.
‘You see for yourself, Mr Champnell, what a miserable58 weakling, when this subject is broached59, I still remain. I cannot utter the words the stranger uttered, I cannot even write them down. For some inscrutable reason they have on me an effect similar to that which spells and incantations had on people in tales of witchcraft60.’
‘I suppose, Mr Lessingham, that there is no doubt that this mysterious stranger was not himself an optical delusion?’
‘Scarcely. There is the evidence of my servants to prove the contrary.’
‘Did your servants see him?’
‘Some of them,—yes. Then there is the evidence of the bureau. The fellow had smashed the top right in two. When I came to examine the contents I learned that a packet of letters was missing. They were letters which I had received from Miss Lindon, a lady whom I hope to make my wife. This, also, I state to you in confidence.’
‘What use would he be likely to make of them?’
‘If matters stand as I fear they do, he might make a very serious misuse61 of them. If the object of these wretches62, after all these years, is a wild revenge, they would be capable, having discovered what she is to me, of working Miss Lindon a fatal mischief63,—or, at the very least, of poisoning her mind.’
‘I see.—How did the thief escape,—did he, like the delineation, vanish into air?’
‘He escaped by the much more prosaic64 method of dashing through the drawing-room window, and clambering down from the verandah into the street, where he ran right into someone’s arms.’
‘Into whose arms,—a constable’s?’
‘No; into Mr Atherton’s,—Sydney Atherton’s.’
‘The inventor?’
‘The same.—Do you know him?’
‘I do. Sydney Atherton and I are friends of a good many years’ standing65.—But Atherton must have seen where he came from;—and, anyhow, if he was in the state of undress which you have described, why didn’t he stop him?’
‘Mr Atherton’s reasons were his own. He did not stop him, and, so far as I can learn, he did not attempt to stop him. Instead, he knocked at my hall door to inform me that he had seen a man climb out of my window.’
‘I happen to know that, at certain seasons, Atherton is a queer fish,—but that sounds very queer indeed.’
‘The truth is, Mr Champnell, that, if it were not for Mr Atherton, I doubt if I should have troubled you even now. The accident of his being an acquaintance of yours makes my task easier.’
He drew his chair closer to me with an air of briskness66 which had been foreign to him before. For some reason, which I was unable to fathom67, the introduction of Atherton’s name seemed to have enlivened him. However, I was not long to remain in darkness. In half a dozen sentences he threw more light on the real cause of his visit to me than he had done in all that had gone before. His bearing, too, was more businesslike and to the point. For the first time I had some glimmerings of the politician,—alert, keen, eager,—as he is known to all the world.
‘Mr Atherton, like myself, has been a postulant for Miss Lindon’s hand. Because I have succeeded where he has failed, he has chosen to be angry. It seems that he has had dealings, either with my visitor of Tuesday night, or with some other his acquaintance, and he proposes to use what he has gleaned68 from him to the disadvantage of my character. I have just come from Mr Atherton. From hints he dropped I conclude that, probably during the last few hours, he has had an interview with someone who was connected in some way with that lurid69 patch in my career; that this person made so-called revelations, which were nothing but a series of monstrous70 lies; and these so-called revelations Mr Atherton has threatened, in so many words, to place before Miss Lindon. That is an eventuality which I wish to avoid. My own conviction is that there is at this moment in London an emissary from that den in the whilom Rue de Rabagas—for all I know it may be the Woman of the Songs herself. Whether the sole purport of this individual’s presence is to do me injury, I am, as yet, in no position to say, but that it is proposed to work me mischief, at any rate, by the way, is plain. I believe that Mr Atherton knows more about this person’s individuality and whereabouts than he has been willing, so far, to admit. I want you, therefore, to ascertain these things on my behalf; to find out what, and where, this person is, to drag her!—or him;—out into the light of day. In short, I want you to effectually protect me from the terrorism which threatens once more to overwhelm my mental and my physical powers,—which bids fair to destroy my intellect, my career, my life, my all.’
‘What reason have you for suspecting that Mr Atherton has seen this individual of whom you speak,—has he told you so?’
‘Practically,—yes.’
‘I know Atherton well. In his not infrequent moments of excitement he is apt to use strong language, but it goes no further. I believe him to be the last person in the world to do anyone an intentional71 injustice72, under any circumstances whatever. If I go to him, armed with credentials73 from you, when he understands the real gravity of the situation,—which it will be my business to make him do, I believe that, spontaneously, of his own accord, he will tell me as much about this mysterious individual as he knows himself.’
‘Then go to him at once.’
‘Good. I will. The result I will communicate to you.’
I rose from my seat. As I did so, someone rushed into the outer office with a din51 and a clatter74. Andrews’ voice, and another, became distinctly audible,—Andrews’ apparently raised in vigorous expostulation. Raised, seemingly, in vain, for presently the door of my own particular sanctum was thrown open with a crash, and Mr Sydney Atherton himself came dashing in,—evidently conspicuously75 under the influence of one of those not infrequent ‘moments of excitement’ of which I had just been speaking.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
vaulted
|
|
| adj.拱状的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
trampling
|
|
| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
missionary
|
|
| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
stark
|
|
| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
hovered
|
|
| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
battered
|
|
| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
testimony
|
|
| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
hospitable
|
|
| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
aphasia
|
|
| n.失语症 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
wreck
|
|
| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
abject
|
|
| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
embitter
|
|
| v.使苦；激怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
supervision
|
|
| n.监督，管理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
purport
|
|
| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
prelude
|
|
| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
den
|
|
| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
confidential
|
|
| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
perceptive
|
|
| adj.知觉的，有洞察力的，感知的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
faculties
|
|
| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
acumen
|
|
| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
chasm
|
|
| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
imminent
|
|
| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
peril
|
|
| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
unravel
|
|
| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
tangled
|
|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
unravelled
|
|
| 解开，拆散，散开( unravel的过去式和过去分词 )； 阐明； 澄清； 弄清楚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
sunder
|
|
| v.分开；隔离；n.分离，分开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
paralysis
|
|
| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
recur
|
|
| vi.复发，重现，再发生 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
recurrence
|
|
| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
diabolically
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
ascertain
|
|
| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
delineation
|
|
| n.记述；描写 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
syllable
|
|
| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
din
|
|
| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
felon
|
|
| n.重罪犯；adj.残忍的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
rue
|
|
| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
orbs
|
|
| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
broached
|
|
| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
witchcraft
|
|
| n.魔法，巫术 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
misuse
|
|
| n.误用，滥用；vt.误用，滥用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
wretches
|
|
| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
prosaic
|
|
| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
briskness
|
|
| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
fathom
|
|
| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
gleaned
|
|
| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
lurid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
monstrous
|
|
| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
intentional
|
|
| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
injustice
|
|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
credentials
|
|
| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
clatter
|
|
| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
conspicuously
|
|
| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |