tales and fantasies-第8部分

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return　of　day；　of　the　holy　season；　and　of　the　friend　whom　he

had　so　coldly　received　and　was　now　so　churlishly　neglecting。

John's　disgust　redoubled　at　the　thought；　but　hunger　was

beginning　to　grow　stronger　than　repulsion；　and　as　a　step　to

breakfast；　if　nothing　else；　he　must　find　and　arouse　this

sleeper。



He　made　the　circuit　of　the　bedroom　quarters。　　All；　until　he

came　to　Alan's　chamber；　were　locked　from　without；　and　bore

the　marks　of　a　prolonged　disuse。　　But　Alan's　was　a　room　in

commission；　filled　with　clothes；　knickknacks；　letters；　books；

and　the　conveniences　of　a　solitary　man。　　The　fire　had　been

lighted；　but　it　had　long　ago　burned　out；　and　the　ashes　were

stone　cold。　　The　bed　had　been　made；　but　it　had　not　been　slept

in。



Worse　and　worse；　then；　Alan　must　have　fallen　where　he　sat；

and　now　sprawled　brutishly；　no　doubt；　upon　the　dining…room

floor。



The　dining…room　was　a　very　long　apartment；　and　was　reached

through　a　passage；　so　that　John；　upon　his　entrance；　brought

but　little　light　with　him；　and　must　move　toward　the　windows

with　spread　arms；　groping　and　knocking　on　the　furniture。

Suddenly　he　tripped　and　fell　his　length　over　a　prostrate

body。　　It　was　what　he　had　looked　for；　yet　it　shocked　him；　and

he　marvelled　that　so　rough　an　impact　should　not　have　kicked　a

groan　out　of　the　drunkard。　　Men　had　killed　themselves　ere　now

in　such　excesses；　a　dreary　and　degraded　end　that　made　John

shudder。　　What　if　Alan　were　dead？　　There　would　be　a

Christmas…day！



By　this；　John　had　his　hand　upon　the　shutters；　and　flinging

them　back；　beheld　once　again　the　blessed　face　of　the　day。

Even　by　that　light　the　room　had　a　discomfortable　air。　　The

chairs　were　scattered；　and　one　had　been　overthrown；　the

table…cloth；　laid　as　if　for　dinner；　was　twitched　upon　one

side；　and　some　of　the　dishes　had　fallen　to　the　floor。　　Behind

the　table　lay　the　drunkard；　still　unaroused；　only　one　foot

visible　to　John。



But　now　that　light　was　in　the　room；　the　worst　seemed　over；　it

was　a　disgusting　business；　but　not　more　than　disgusting；　and

it　was　with　no　great　apprehension　that　John　proceeded　to　make

the　circuit　of　the　table：　his　last　comparatively　tranquil

moment　for　that　day。　　No　sooner　had　he　turned　the　corner；　no

sooner　had　his　eyes　alighted　on　the　body；　than　he　gave　a

smothered；　breathless　cry；　and　fled　out　of　the　room　and　out

of　the　house。



It　was　not　Alan　who　lay　there；　but　a　man　well　up　in　years；　of

stern　countenance　and　iron…grey　locks；　and　it　was　no

drunkard；　for　the　body　lay　in　a　black　pool　of　blood；　and　the

open　eyes　stared　upon　the　ceiling。



To　and　fro　walked　John　before　the　door。　　The　extreme

sharpness　of　the　air　acted　on　his　nerves　like　an　astringent；

and　braced　them　swiftly。　　Presently；　he　not　relaxing　in　his

disordered　walk；　the　images　began　to　come　clearer　and　stay

longer　in　his　fancy；　and　next　the　power　of　thought　came　back

to　him；　and　the　horror　and　danger　of　his　situation　rooted　him

to　the　ground。



He　grasped　his　forehead；　and　staring　on　one　spot　of　gravel；

pieced　together　what　he　knew　and　what　he　suspected。　　Alan　had

murdered　some　one：　possibly　'that　man'　against　whom　the

butler　chained　the　door　in　Regent　Terrace；　possibly　another；

some　one　at　least：　a　human　soul；　whom　it　was　death　to　slay

and　whose　blood　lay　spilled　upon　the　floor。　　This　was　the

reason　of　the　whisky　drinking　in　the　passage；　of　his

unwillingness　to　welcome　John；　of　his　strange　behaviour　and

bewildered　words；　this　was　why　he　had　started　at　and　harped

upon　the　name　of　murder；　this　was　why　he　had　stood　and

hearkened；　or　sat　and　covered　his　eyes；　in　the　black　night。

And　now　he　was　gone；　now　he　had　basely　fled；　and　to　all　his

perplexities　and　dangers　John　stood　heir。



'Let　me　think　…　let　me　think；'　he　said；　aloud；　impatiently；

even　pleadingly；　as　if　to　some　merciless　interrupter。　　In　the

turmoil　of　his　wits；　a　thousand　hints　and　hopes　and　threats

and　terrors　dinning　continuously　in　his　ears；　he　was　like　one

plunged　in　the　hubbub　of　a　crowd。　　How　was　he　to　remember　…

he；　who　had　not　a　thought　to　spare　…　that　he　was　himself　the

author；　as　well　as　the　theatre；　of　so　much　confusion？　　But　in

hours　of　trial　the　junto　of　man's　nature　is　dissolved；　and

anarchy　succeeds。



It　was　plain　he　must　stay　no　longer　where　he　was；　for　here

was　a　new　Judicial　Error　in　the　very　making。　　It　was　not　so

plain　where　he　must　go；　for　the　old　Judicial　Error；　vague　as

a　cloud；　appeared　to　fill　the　habitable　world；　whatever　it

might　be；　it　watched　for　him；　full…grown；　in　Edinburgh；　it

must　have　had　its　birth　in　San　Francisco；　it　stood　guard；　no

doubt；　like　a　dragon；　at　the　bank　where　he　should　cash　his

credit；　and　though　there　were　doubtless　many　other　places；

who　should　say　in　which　of　them　it　was　not　ambushed？　　No；　he

could　not　tell　where　he　was　to　go；　he　must　not　lose　time　on

these　insolubilities。　　Let　him　go　back　to　the　beginning。　　It

was　plain　he　must　stay　no　longer　where　he　was。　　It　was　plain；

too；　that　he　must　not　flee　as　he　was；　for　he　could　not　carry

his　portmanteau；　and　to　flee　and　leave　it　was　to　plunge

deeper　in　the　mire。　　He　must　go；　leave　the　house　unguarded；

find　a　cab；　and　return　…　return　after　an　absence？　　Had　he

courage　for　that？



And　just　then　he　spied　a　stain　about　a　hand's…breadth　on　his

trouser…leg；　and　reached　his　finger　down　to　touch　it。　　The

finger　was　stained　red：　it　was　blood；　he　stared　upon　it　with

disgust；　and　awe；　and　terror；　and　in　the　sharpness　of　the　new

sensation；　fell　instantly　to　act。



He　cleansed　his　finger　in　the　snow；　returned　into　the　house；

drew　near　with　hushed　footsteps　to　the　dining…room　door；　and

shut　and　locked　it。　　Then　he　breathed　a　little　freer；　for

here　at　least　was　an　oaken　barrier　between　himself　and　what

he　feared。　　Next；　he　hastened　to　his　room；　tore　off　the

spotted　trousers　which　seemed　in　his　eyes　a　link　to　bind　him

to　the　gallows；　flung　them　in　a　corner；　donned　another　pair；

breathlessly　crammed　his　night　things　into　his　portmanteau；

locked　it；　swung　it　with　an　effort　from　the　ground；　and　with

a　rush　of　relief；　came　forth　again　under　the　open　heavens。



The　portmanteau；　being　of　occidental　build；　was　no　feather…

weight；　it　had　distressed　the　powerful　Alan；　and　as　for　John；

he　was　crushed　under　its　bulk；　and　the　sweat　broke　upon　him

thickly。　　Twice　he　must　set　it　down　to　rest　before　he　reached

the　gate；　and　when　he　had　come　so　far；　he　must　do　as　Alan

did；　and　take　his　seat　upon　one　corner。　　Here　then；　he　sat　a

while　and　panted；　but　now　his　thoughts　were　sensibly

lightened；　now；　with　the　trunk　standing　just　inside　the　door；

some　part　of　his　dissociation　from　the　house　of　crime　had

been　effected；　and　the　cabman　need　not　pass　the　garden　wall。

It　was　wonderful　how　that　relieved　him；　for　the　house；　in　his

eyes；　was　a　place　to　strike　the　most　cursory　beholder　with

suspicion；　as　though　the　very　windows　had　cried　murder。



But　there　was　to　be　no　remission　of　the　strokes　of　fate。　　As

he　thus　sat；　taking　breath　in　the　shadow　of　the　wall　and

hopped　about　by　sparrows；　it　chanced　that　his　eye　roved　to

the　fastening　of　the　door；　and　what　he　saw　plucked　him　to　his

feet。　　The　thing　locked　with　a　spring；　once　the　door　was

closed；　the　bolt　shut　of　itself；　and　without　a　key；　there　was

no　means　of　entering　from　without。



He　saw　himself　obliged　to　one　of　two　distasteful　and　perilous

alternatives；　either　to　shut　the　door　altogether　and　set　his

portmanteau　out　upon　the　wayside；　a　wonder　to　all　beholders；

or　to　leave　the　door　ajar；　so　that　any　thievish　tramp　or

holiday　schoolboy　might　stray　in　and　stumble　on　the　grisly

secret。　　To　the　last；　as　the　least　desperate；　his　mind

inclined；　but　he　must　first　insure　himself　that　he　was

unobserved。　　He　peered　out；　and　down　the　long　road；　it　lay

dead　empty。　　He　went　to　the　corner　of　the　by…road　that　comes

by　way　of　Dean；　there　also　not　a　passenger　was　stirring。

Plainly　it　was；　now　or　never；　the　high　tide　of　his　affairs；

and　he　drew　the　door　as　close　as　he　durst；　slipped　a　pebble

in　the　chink；　and　made　off　downhill　to　find　a　cab。



Half…way　down　a　gate　opened；　and　a　troop　of　Christmas

children　sallied　forth　in　the　most　cheerful　humour；　followed

more　soberly　by　a　smiling　mother。



'And　this　is　Christmas…day！'　thought　John；　and　could　have

laughed　aloud　in　tragic　bitterness　of　heart。







CHAPTER　VII　…　A　TRAGI…COMEDY　IN　A　CAB







In　front　of　Donaldson's　Hospital；　John　counted　it　good

fortune　to　perceive　a　cab　a　great　way　of；　and　by　much

shouting　and　waving　of　his　arm；　to　catch　the　notice　of　the

driver。　　He　counted　it　good　fortune；　for　the　time　was　long　to

him　till　he　should　have　done　for　ever　with　the　Lodge；　and　the

further　he　must　go　to　find　a　cab；　the　greater　the　chance　that

the　inevitable　discovery　had　taken　place；　and　that　he　should

return　to　find　the　garden　full　of　angry　neighbours。　　Yet　when

the　vehicle　drew　up　he　was　sensibly　chagrined　to　recognise

the　port…wine　cabman　of　the　night　before。　　'Here；'　he　could

not　but　reflect；　'here　is　another　link　in　the　Judicial

Error。'



The　driver；　on　the　other　hand；　was　pleased　to　drop　again　upon

so　liberal　a　fare；　and　as　he　was　a　man　…　the　reader　must

already　have　perceived　…　of　easy；　not　to　say　familiar；

manners；　he　dropped　at　once　into　a　vein　of　friendly　talk；

commenting　on　the　weather；　on　the　sacred　season；　which　struck

him　chiefly　in　the　light　of　a　day　of　liberal　gratuities；　on

the　chance　which　had　reunited　him　to　a　pleasing　customer；　and

on　the　fact　that　John　had　been　（as　he　was　pleased　to　call　it）

visibly　'on　the　randan'　the　night　before。



'And　ye　look　dreidful　bad　the…day；　sir；　I　must　say　that；'　he

continued。　　'There's　nothing　like　a　dram　for　ye　…　if　ye'll

take　my　advice　of　it；　and　bein'　as　it's　Christmas；　I'm　no'

saying；'　he　added；　with　a　fatherly　smile；　'but　what　I　would

join　ye　mysel'。'



John　had　listened　with　a　sick　heart。



'I'll　give　you