The Room of Mirrors
A late hansom came swinging round the corner into Lennox Gardens,cutting it so fine that the near wheel ground against the kerb andjolted the driver in his little seat. The jingle of bells might havewarned me; but the horse's hoofs came noiselessly on the half-frozensnow, which lay just deep enough to hide where the pavement ended andthe road began; and, moreover, I was listening to the violins behind thefirst-floor windows of the house opposite. They were playing the"Wiener Blut."As it was, I had time enough and no more to skip back and get my toesout of the way. The cabby cursed me. I cursed him back so promptly andeffectively that he had to turn in his seat for another shot.The windows of the house opposite let fall their light across his redand astonished face. I laughed, and gave him another volley. My headwas hot, though my feet and hands were cold; and I felt equal to cursingdown any cabman within the four-mile radius. That second volleyfinished him. He turned to his reins again and was borne away defeated;the red eyes of his lamps peering back at me like an angry ferret's.Up in the lighted room shadows of men and women crossed the blinds, andstill the "Wiener Blut" went forward.The devil was in that waltz. He had hold of the violins and was weavingthe air with scents and visions--visions of Ascot and Henley; greenlawns, gay sunshades, midsummer heat, cool rivers flowing, muslinsrippled by light breezes; running horses and silken jackets; whitetables heaped with roses and set with silver and crystal, jewelledfingers moving in the soft candle-light, bare necks bending, diamonds,odours, bubbles in the wine; blue water and white foam beneath theleaning shadow of sails; hot air flickering over stretches of moorland;blue again--Mediterranean blue--long facades, the din of bands and KingCarnival parading beneath showers of blossom:--and all this noise andwarmth and scent and dazzle flung out into the frozen street for abeggar's portion. I had gone under.The door of the house opposite had been free to me once--and not sixmonths ago; freer to me perhaps than to any other. Did I long to passbehind it again? I thrust both hands into my pockets for warmth, and myright hand knocked against something hard. Yes . . . just once. . . .Suddenly the door opened. A man stood on the threshold for a momentwhile the butler behind him arranged the collar of his fur overcoat.The high light in the portico flung the shadows of both down the crimsoncarpet laid on the entrance-steps. Snow had fallen and covered theedges of the carpet, which divided it like a cascade of blood pouringfrom the hall into the street. And still overhead the "Wiener Blut"went forward.The man paused in the bright portico, his patent-leather boots twinklingunder the lamp's rays on that comfortable carpet. I waited, expectinghim to whistle for a hansom. But he turned, gave an order to thebutler, and stepping briskly down into the street, made off eastwards.The door closed behind him. He was the man I most hated in the world.If I had longed to cross the threshold a while back it was to seek him,and for no other reason.I started to follow him, my hands still in my pockets. The snow muffledour footfalls completely, for as yet the slight north-east wind hadfrozen but the thinnest crust of it. He was walking briskly, as men doin such weather, but with no appearance of hurry. At the corner ofSloane Street he halted under a lamp, pulled out his watch, consultedit, and lit a cigarette; then set off again up the street towardsKnightsbridge.This halt of his had let me up within twenty paces of him. He neverturned his head; but went on presenting me his back, a target not to bemissed. Why not do it now? Better now and here than in a crowdedthoroughfare. My right hand gripped the revolver more tightly.No, there was plenty of time: and I was curious to know what had broughtGervase out at this hour: why he had left his guests, or his wife'sguests, to take care of themselves: why he chose to be trudging afootthrough this infernally unpleasant snow.The roadway in Sloane Street was churned into a brown mass likechocolate, but the last 'bus had rolled home and left it to freeze inpeace. Half-way up the street I saw Gervase meet and pass a policeman,and altered my own pace to a lagging walk. Even so, the fellow eyed mesuspiciously as I went by--or so I thought: and guessing that he kept awatch on me, I dropped still further behind my man. But the lamps werebright at the end of the street, and I saw him turn to the right by thegreat drapery shop at the corner.Once past this corner I was able to put on a spurt. He crossed theroadway by the Albert Gate, and by the time he reached the Park railingsthe old distance separated us once more. Half-way up the slope he cameto a halt, by the stone drinking-trough: and flattening myself againstthe railings, I saw him try the thin ice in the trough with hisfinger-tips, but in a hesitating way, as if his thoughts ran onsomething else and he scarcely knew what he did or why he did it.It must have been half a minute before he recovered himself with a shrugof his shoulders, and plunging both hands deep in his pockets, resumedhis pace.As we passed Hyde Park Corner I glanced up at the clock there: the timewas between a quarter and ten minutes to one. At the entrance of DownStreet he turned aside again, and began to lead me a zigzag dancethrough the quiet thoroughfare: and I followed, still to the tune of the"Wiener Blut."But now, at the corner of Charles Street, I blundered against anotherpoliceman, who flashed his lantern in my face, stared after Gervase, andasked me what my game was. I demanded innocently enough to be shown thenearest way to Oxford Street, and the fellow, after pausing a moment tochew his suspicions, walked with me slowly to the south-west corner ofBerkeley Square, and pointed northwards."That's your road," he growled, "straight on. And don't you forget it!"He stood and watched me on my way. Nor did I dare to turn aside untilwell clear of the square. At the crossing of Davies and GrosvenorStreets, however, I supposed myself safe, and halted for a moment.From the shadow of a porch at my elbow a thin voice accosted me."Kind gentleman--""Heh?" I spun round on her sharply: for it was a woman, stretching outone skinny hand and gathering her rags together with the other."Kind gentleman, spare a copper. I've known better days--I haveindeed.""Well," said I, "as it happens, I'm in the same case. And they couldn'tbe much worse, could they?"She drew a shuddering breath back through her teeth, but still held outher hand. I felt for my last coin, and her fingers closed on it sosharply that their long nails scraped the back of mine."Kind gentleman--""Ay, they are kind, are they not?"She stared at me, and in a nerveless tone let one horrible oath escapeher."There'll be one less before morning," said I, "if that's anyconsolation to you. Good night!" Setting off at a shuffling run, Idoubled back along Grosvenor Street and Bond Street to the point where Ihoped to pick up the trail again. And just there, at the issue ofBruton Street, two constables stood ready for me."I thought as much," said the one who set me on my way. "Hi, you!Wait a moment, please;" then to the other, "Best turn his pockets out,Jim.""If you dare to try--" I began, with my hand in my pocket: the nextmoment I found myself sprawling face downward on the sharp crust ofsnow."Hullo, constables!" said a voice. "What's the row?" It was Gervase.He had turned leisurely back from the slope of Conduit Street, and camestrolling down the road with his hands in his pockets."This fellow, Sir--we have reason to think he was followin' you.""Quite right," Gervase answered cheerfully, "of course he was.""Oh, if you knew it, Sir--""Certainly I knew it. In fact, he was following at my invitation.""What for did he tell me a lie, then?" grumbled the constable,chapfallen.I had picked myself up by this time and was wiping my face."Look here," I put in, "I asked you the way to Oxford Street, that andnothing else." And I went on to summarise my opinion of him."Oh! it's you can swear a bit," he growled. "I heard you just now.""Yes," Gervase interposed suavely, drawing the glove from his right handand letting flash a diamond finger-ring in the lamp-light. "He is abit of a beast, policeman, and it's not for the pleasure of it that Iwant his company."A sovereign passed from hand to hand. The other constable haddiscreetly drawn off a pace or two."All the same, it's a rum go.""Yes, isn't it?" Gervase assented in his heartiest tone. "Here is mycard, in case you're not satisfied.""If you're satisfied, Sir--""Quite so. Good night!" Gervase thrust both hands into his pocketsagain and strode off. I followed him, with a heart hotter than ever--followed him like a whipped cur, as they say. Yes, that was just it.He who had already robbed me of everything else had now kicked even thepedestal from under me as a figure of tragedy. Five minutes ago I hadbeen the implacable avenger tracking my unconscious victim across thecity. Heaven knows how small an excuse it was for self-respect; but onewho has lost character may yet chance to catch a dignity fromcircumstances; and to tell the truth, for all my desperate earnestness Ihad allowed my vanity to take some artistic satisfaction in the sinisterchase. It had struck me--shall I say?--as an effective ending, nor hadI failed to note that the snow lent it a romantic touch.And behold, the unconscious victim knew all about it, and had politelyinterfered when a couple of unromantic "Bobbies" threatened theperformance by tumbling the stalking avenger into the gutter! They hadknocked my tragedy into harlequinade as easily as you might bash in ahat; and my enemy had refined the cruelty of it by coming to the rescueand ironically restarting the poor play on lines of comedy. I saw toolate that I ought to have refused his help, to have assaulted theconstable and been hauled to the police-station. Not an impressivewind-up, to be sure; but less humiliating than this! Even so, Gervasemight have trumped the poor card by following with a gracious offer tobail me out!As it was, I had put the whip into his hand, and must follow him like acur. The distance he kept assured me that the similitude had notescaped him. He strode on without deigning a single glance behind,still in cold derision presenting me his broad back and silentlychallenging me to shoot. And I followed, hating him worse than ever,swearing that the last five minutes should not be forgotten, but chargedfor royally when the reckoning came to be paid.I followed thus up Conduit Street, up Regent Street, and across theCircus. The frost had deepened and the mud in the roadway crackledunder our feet. At the Circus I began to guess, and when Gervase struckoff into Great Portland Street, and thence by half-a-dozen turningsnorthward by east, I knew to what house he was leading me.At the entrance of the side street in which it stood he halted andmotioned me to come close."I forget," he said with a jerk of his thumb, "if you still have theentry. These people are not particular, to be sure.""I have not," I answered, and felt my cheeks burning. He could not seethis, nor could I see the lift of his eyebrows as he answered--"Ah? I hadn't heard of it. . . . You'd better step round by the mews,then. You know the window, the one which opens into the passage leadingto Pollox Street. Wait there. It may be ten minutes before I canopen."I nodded. The house was a corner one, between the street and a by-lanetenanted mostly by cabmen; and at the back of it ran the mews wherethey stabled their horses. Half-way down this mews a narrow alley cutacross it at right angles: a passage un-frequented by traffic, knownonly to the stablemen, and in the daytime used only by their children,who played hop-scotch on the flagged pavement, where no one interruptedthem. You wondered at its survival--from end to end it must havemeasured a good fifty yards--in a district where every square foot ofground fetched money; until you learned that the house had belonged, inthe 'twenties, to a nobleman who left a name for eccentric profligacy,and who, as owner of the land, could afford to indulge his humours.The estate since his death was in no position to afford money foralterations, and the present tenants of the house found the passageconvenient enough.My footsteps disturbed no one in the sleeping mews; and doubling backnoiselessly through the passage, I took up my station beside the one lowwindow which opened upon it from the blank back premises of the house.Even with the glimmer of snow to help me, I had to grope for thewindow-sill to make sure of my bearings. The minutes crawled by, andthe only sound came from a stall where one of the horses had kickedthrough his thin straw bedding and was shuffling an uneasy hoof upon thecobbles. Then just as I too had begun to shuffle my frozen feet, Iheard a scratching sound, the unbolting of a shutter, and Gervase drewup the sash softly."Nip inside!" he whispered. "No more noise than you can help. I havesent off the night porter. He tells me the bank is still going in thefront of the house--half-a-dozen playing, perhaps."I hoisted myself over the sill, and dropped inside. The wall of thisannexe--which had no upper floor, and invited you to mistake it for aharmless studio--was merely a sheath, so to speak. Within, a corridordivided it from the true wall of the room: and this room had no windowor top-light, though a handsome one in the roof--a dummy--beguiled theeyes of its neighbours.There was but one room: an apartment of really fine proportions, neverused by the tenants of the house, and known but to a few curious onesamong its frequenters.The story went that the late owner, Earl C--, had reason to believehimself persistently cheated at cards by his best friends, and inparticular by a Duke of the Blood Royal, who could hardly be accused tohis face. The Earl's sense of honour forbade him to accuse any meanerman while the big culprit went unrebuked. Therefore he continued tolose magnificently while he devised a new room for play: the room inwhich I now followed Gervase.I had stood in it once before and admired the courtly and costlythoroughness of the Earl's rebuke. I had imagined him conducting hisexpectant guests to the door, ushering them in with a wave of the hand,and taking his seat tranquilly amid the dead, embarrassed silence: hadimagined him facing the Royal Duke and asking, "Shall we cut?" with avoice of the politest inflection.For the room was a sheet of mirrors. Mirrors panelled the walls, thedoors, the very backs of the shutters. The tables had mirrors for tops:the whole ceiling was one vast mirror. From it depended three greatcandelabra of cut-glass, set with reflectors here, there, andeverywhere.I had heard that even the floor was originally of polished brass.If so, later owners must have ripped up the plates and sold them: fornow a few cheap Oriental rugs carpeted the unpolished boards. The placewas abominably dusty: the striped yellow curtains had lost half theirrings and drooped askew from their soiled vallances. Across one of thewall-panels ran an ugly scar. A smell of rat pervaded the air.The present occupiers had no use for a room so obviously unsuitable togames of chance, as they understood chance: and I doubt if a servantentered it once a month. Gervase had ordered candles and a fire: butthe chimney was out of practice, and the smoke wreathed itself slowlyabout us as we stood surrounded by the ghostly company of our reflectedselves."We shall not be disturbed," said Gervase. "I told the man I wasexpecting a friend, that our business was private, and that until hecalled I wished to be alone. I did not explain by what entrance Iexpected him. The people in the front cannot hear us. Have a cigar?"He pushed the open case towards me. Then, as I drew back, "You've noneed to be scrupulous," he added, "seeing that they were bought withyour money.""If that's so, I will," said I; and having chosen one, struck a match.Glancing round, I saw a hundred small flames spurt up, and a hundred menhold them to a hundred glowing cigar-tips."After you with the match." Gervase took it from me with a steady hand.He, too, glanced about him while he puffed. "Ugh!" He blew a longcloud, and shivered within his furred overcoat. "What a gang!""It takes all sorts to make a world," said I fatuously, for lack ofanything better."Don't be an infernal idiot!" he answered, flicking the dust off one ofthe gilt chairs, and afterwards cleaning a space for his elbow on thelooking-glass table. "It takes only two sorts to make the world we'velived in, and that's you and I." He gazed slowly round the walls."You and I, and a few fellows like us--not to mention the women, whodon't count.""Well," said I, "as far as the world goes--if you must discuss it--I always found it a good enough place.""Because you started as an unconsidering fool: and because, afterwards,when we came to grips, you were the under-dog, and I gave you no time.My word--how I have hustled you!"I yawned. "All right: I can wait. Only if you suppose I came here tolisten to your moral reflections--"He pulled the cigar from between his teeth and looked at me along it."I know perfectly well why you came here," he said slowly, and paused."Hadn't we better have it out--with the cards on the table?" He drew asmall revolver from his pocket and laid it with a light clink on thetable before him. I hesitated for a moment, then followed his example,and the silent men around us did the same.A smile curled his thin lips as he observed this multiplied gesture."Yes," he said, as if to himself, "that is what it all comes to.""And now," said I, "since you know my purpose here, perhaps you willtell me yours.""That is just what I am trying to explain. Only you are so impatient,and it--well, it's a trifle complicated." He puffed for a moment insilence. "Roughly, it might be enough to say that I saw you standingoutside my house a while ago; that I needed a talk with you alone, insome private place; that I guessed, if you saw me, you would follow withno more invitation; and that, so reasoning, I led you here, where no oneis likely to interrupt us.""Well," I admitted, "all that seems plain sailing.""Quite so; but it's at this point the thing grows complicated."He rose, and walking to the fireplace, turned his back on me and spreadhis palms to the blaze. "Well," he asked, after a moment, gazing intothe mirror before him, "why don't you shoot?"I thrust my hands into my trouser-pockets and leaned back staring--I daresay sulkily enough--at the two revolvers within grasp. "I've gotmy code," I muttered."The code of--these mirrors. You won't do the thing because it's notthe thing to do; because these fellows"--he waved a hand and the ghostswaved back at him--"don't do such things, and you haven't the nerve tosin off your own bat. Come"--he strolled back to his seat and leanedtowards me across the table--"it's not much to boast of, but at thiseleventh hour we must snatch what poor credit we can. You are, Isuppose, a more decent fellow for not having fired: and I--By the way,you did feel the temptation?"I nodded. "You may put your money on that. I never see you withoutwanting to kill you. What's more, I'm going to do it.""And I," he said, "knew the temptation and risked it. No: let's behonest about it. There was no risk: because, my good Sir, I know you toa hair.""There was," I growled."Pardon me, there was none. I came here having a word to say to you,and these mirrors have taught me how to say it. Take a look at them--the world we are leaving--that's it: and a cursed second-hand,second-class one at that."He paced slowly round on it, slewing his body in the chair."I say a second-class one," he resumed, "because, my dear Reggie, whenall's said and done, we are second-class, the pair of us, and pretty badsecond-class. I met you first at Harrow. Our fathers had money: theywished us to be gentlemen without well understanding what it meant: andwith unlimited pocket-money and his wits about him any boy can makehimself a power in a big school. That is what we did: towards the endwe even set the fashion for a certain set; and a rank bad fashion itwas. But, in truth, we had no business there: on every point ofbreeding we were outsiders. I suspect it was a glimmering consciousnessof this that made us hate each other from the first. We understood oneanother too well. Oh, there's no mistake about it! Whatever we'vemissed in life, you and I have hated."He paused, eyeing me queerly. I kept my hands in my pockets. "Go on,"I said."From Harrow we went to College--the same business over again.We drifted, of course, into the same set; for already we had becomenecessary to each other. We set the pace of that set--were its apparentleaders. But in truth we were alone--you and I--as utterly alone as twoshipwrecked men on a raft. The others were shadows to us: we followedtheir code because we had to be gentlemen, but we did not understand itin the least. For, after all, the roots of that code lay in thebreeding and tradition of honour, with which we had no concern. To eachother you and I were intelligible and real; but as concerned that codeand the men who followed it by right of birth and nature, we werelooking-glass men imitating--imitating--imitating.""We set the pace," said I. "You've allowed that.""To be sure we did. We even modified the code a bit--to its hurt;though as conscious outsiders we could dare very little. For instance,the talk of our associates about women--and no doubt their thoughts,too--grew sensibly baser. The sanctity of gambling debts, on the otherhand, we did nothing to impair: because we had money. I recall yourvirtuous indignation at the amount of paper floated by poor W---- towardsthe end of the great baccarat term. Poor devil! He paid up--or hisfather did--and took his name off the books. He's in Ceylon now, Ibelieve. At length you have earned a partial right to sympathise: or.would have if only you had paid up.""Take care, Gervase.""My good Sir, don't miss my point. Wasn't I just as indignant with W--?If I'd been warned off Newmarket Heath, if I'd been shown the door ofthe hell we're sitting in, shouldn't I feel just as you are feeling?Try to understand!""You forget Elaine, I think.""No: I do not forget Elaine. We left College: I to add money to moneyin my father's office; you to display your accomplishments in spendingwhat your father had earned. That was the extent of the difference.To both of us, money and the indulgence it buys meant everything inlife. All I can boast of is the longer sight. The office-hours were anuisance, I admit: but I was clever enough to keep my hold on the oldset; and then, after office-hours, I met you constantly, and studied andhated you--studied you because I hated you. Elaine came between us.You fell in love with her. That I, too, should fall in love with herwas no coincidence, but the severest of logic. Given such a woman andtwo such men, no other course of fate is conceivable. She made itnecessary for me to put hate into practice. If she had not offeredherself, why, then it would have been somebody else: that's all.Good Lord!" he rapped the table, and his voice rose for the first timeabove its level tone of exposition, "you don't suppose all my study--all my years of education--were to be wasted!"He checked himself, eyed me again, and resumed in his old voice--"You wanted money by this time. I was a solicitor--your old collegefriend--and you came to me. I knew you would come, as surely as I knewyou would not fire that pistol just now. For years I had trained myselfto look into your mind and anticipate its working. Don't I tell youthat from the first you were the only real creature this world held forme? You were my only book, and I had to learn you: at first withoutfixed purpose, then deliberately. And when the time came I put intopractice what I knew: just that and no more. My dear Reggie, you neverhad a chance.""Elaine?" I muttered again."Elaine was the girl for you--or for me: just that again and no more.""By George!" said I, letting out a laugh. "If I thought that!""What?""Why, that after ruining me, you have missed being happy!"He sighed impatiently, and his eyes, though he kept them fastened onmine, seemed to be tiring. "I thought," he said, "I could time yourintelligence over any fence. But to-night there's something wrong.Either I'm out of practice or your brain has been going to the deuce.What, man! You're shying at every bank! Is it drink, hey? Or hunger?""It might be a little of both," I answered. "But stay a moment and letme get things straight. I stood between you and Elaine--no, give metime--between you and your aims, whatever they were. Very well.You trod over me; or, rather, you pulled me up by the roots and pitchedme into outer darkness to rot. And now it seems that, after all, youare not content. In the devil's name, why?""Why? Oh, cannot you see? . . . Take a look at these mirrors again--our world, I tell you. See--you and I--you and I--always you and I!Man, I pitched you into darkness as you say, and then I woke and knewthe truth--that you were necessary to me.""Hey?""I can't do without you!" It broke from him in a cry. "So help meGod, Reggie, it is the truth!"I stared in his face for half a minute maybe, and broke out laughing."Jeshurun waxed fat and--turned sentimental! A nice copy-book job youmake of it, too!""Oh, send my brother back to me--I cannot play alone!""Perhaps you'd like me to buy a broom and hire the crossing in LennoxGardens? Then you'd be able to contemplate me all day long, and nourishyour fine fat soul with delicate eating. Pah! You make me sick.""It's the truth," said he quietly."It may be. To me it looks a sight more like foie gras. Can't dowithout me, can't you? Well, I can jolly well do without you, and I'mgoing to.""I warn you," he said: "I have done you an injury or two in my time, butby George if I stand up and let you shoot me--well, I hate you badlyenough, but I won't let you do it without fair warning.""I'll risk it anyway," said I."Very well." He stood up, and folded his arms. "Shoot, then, and behanged!"I put out my hand to the revolver, hesitated, and withdrew it."That's not the way," I said. "I've got my code, as I told you before.""Does the code forbid suicide?" he asked."That's a different thing.""Not at all. The man who commits suicide kills an unarmed man.""But the unarmed man happens to be himself.""Suppose that in this instance your distinction won't work? Look here,"he went on, as I pushed back my chair impatiently, "I have one truthmore for you. I swear I believe that what we have hated, we two, is noteach other, but ourselves or our own likeness. I swear I believe we twohave so shared natures in hate that no power can untwist and separatethem to render each his own. But I swear also I believe that if youlift that revolver to kill, you will take aim, not at me, but byinstinct at a worse enemy--yourself, vital in my heart.""You have some pretty theories to-night," I sneered. "Perhaps you'll goon to tell me which of us two has been Elaine's husband, feedingdaintily in Lennox Gardens, clothed in purple and fine linen, while theother--"He interrupted me by picking up his revolver and striding to thefireplace again."So be it, since you will have it so. Kill me," he added, with a queerlook, "and perhaps you may go back to Lennox Gardens and enjoy all thesethings in my place."I took my station. Both revolvers were levelled now. I took sightalong mine at his detested face. It was white but curiously eager--hopeful even. I lowered my arm, scanning his face still; and stillscanning it, set my weapon down on the table."I believe you are mad," said I slowly. "But one thing I see--that, mador not, you're in earnest. For some reason you want me to kill you;therefore that shall wait. For some reason it is torture to you to liveand do without me: well, I'll try you with that. It will do me good tohurt you a bit." I slipped the revolver into my pocket and tapped it."Though I don't understand them, I won't quarrel with your sentiments solong as you suffer from them. When that fails, I'll find anotheropportunity for this. Good night." I stepped to the door. "Reggie!"I shut the door on his cry: crossed the corridor, and climbing outthrough the window, let myself drop into the lane.As my feet touched the snow a revolver-shot rang out in the room behindme.I caught at the frozen sill to steady myself: and crouching there,listened. Surely the report must have alarmed the house! I waited forthe sound of footsteps: waited for three minutes--perhaps longer.None came. To be sure, the room stood well apart from the house: but itwas incredible that the report should have awakened no one! My own earsstill rang with it.Still no footsteps came. The horse in the stable close by was stillshuffling his hoof on the cobbles. No other sound . . .Very stealthily I hoisted myself up on the sill again, listened, droppedinside, and tip-toed my way to the door. The candles were still burningin the Room of Mirrors. And by the light of them, as I entered, Gervasestepped to meet me."Ah, it's you," I stammered. "I heard--that is, I thought--"And with that I saw--recognised with a catch of the breath--that thefigure I spoke to was not Gervase, but my own reflected image, steppingforward with pale face and ghastly from a mirror. Yet a moment before Icould have sworn it was Gervase.Gervase lay stretched on the hearthrug with his hand towards the fire.I caught up a candle, and bent over him. His features were not to berecognised.As I straightened myself up, with the candle in my hand, for an instantthose features, obliterated in the flesh, gazed at me in a ring, ahundred times repeated behind a hundred candles. And again, at a secondglance, I saw that the face was not Gervase's but my own.I set down the candle and made off, closing the door behind me.The horror of it held me by the hair, but I flung it off and pelted downthe lane and through the mews. Once in the street I breathed again,pulled myself together, and set off at a rapid walk, southwards, but notclearly knowing whither.As a matter of fact, I took the line by which I had come: with thesingle difference that I made straight into Berkeley Square throughBruton Street. I had, I say, no clear purpose in following this linerather than another. I had none for taking Lennox Gardens on the way tomy squalid lodgings in Chelsea. I had a purpose, no doubt; but willswear it only grew definite as I came in sight of the lamp still burningbeneath Gervase's portico.There was a figure, too, under the lamp--the butler--bending there androlling up the strip of red carpet. As he pulled its edges from thefrozen snow I came on him suddenly."Oh, it's you, Sir!" He stood erect, and with the air of a maninfinitely relieved."Gervase!"The door opened wide and there stood Elaine in her ball-gown, a-glitterwith diamonds."Gervase, dear, where have you been? We have been terribly anxious--"She said it, looking straight down on me--on me--who stood in mytattered clothes in the full glare of the lamp. And then I heard thebutler catch his breath, and suddenly her voice trailed off in wonderand pitiful disappointment."It's not Gervase! It's Reg--Mr. Travers. I beg your pardon.I thought--"But I passed up the steps and stood before her: and said, as she drewback--"There has been an accident. Gervase has shot himself." I turned tothe butler. "You had better run to the police station. Stay: take thisrevolver. It won't count anything as evidence: but I ask you to examineit and make sure all the chambers are loaded."A thud in the hall interrupted me. I ran in and knelt beside Elaine,and as I stooped to lift her--as my hand touched her hair--this was thejealous question on my lips--"What has she to do with it. It is I who cannot do without him--whomust miss him always!"
zpostcode
Recruit
weather
mreligion
Yellowpages
sport
constellation
shopping
name
game
directory
literature
Word
tour
furnish
Lottery
tftnews
lyrics
News
digital
car
dir
Edu
Finance
