CHAPTER X.

Gray,”answeredtheframe-maker,whowasstillgaspingforbreath.“Whereshallweputit,sir?” “Oh,anywhere.Here:thiswilldo.Idon’twanttohaveithungup.Justleanitagainstthewall.Thanks.” “Mightonelookattheworkofart,sir?” Dorianstarted.“Itwouldnotinterestyou,Mr.Hubbard,”hesaid,keepinghiseyeontheman.Hefeltreadytoleapuponhimandflinghimtothegroundifhedaredtoliftthegorgeoushangingthatconcealedthesecretofhislife.“Ishan’ttroubleyouanymorenow.Iammuchobligedforyourkindnessincominground.” “Notatall,notatall,Mr.Gray.Everreadytodoanythingforyou,sir.”AndMr.Hubbardtrampeddownstairs,followedbytheassistant,whoglancedbackatDorianwithalookofshywonderinhisroughuncomelyface.Hehadneverseenanyonesomarvellous. Whenthesoundoftheirfootstepshaddiedaway,Dorianlockedthedoorandputthekeyinhispocket.Hefeltsafenow.Noonewouldeverlookuponthehorriblething.Noeyebuthiswouldeverseehisshame. Onreachingthelibrary,hefoundthatitwasjustafterfiveo’clockandthattheteahadbeenalreadybroughtup.Onalittletableofdarkperfumedwoodthicklyincrustedwithnacre,apresentfromLadyRadley,hisguardian’swife,aprettyprofessionalinvalidwhohadspenttheprecedingwinterinCairo,waslyinganotefromLordHenry,andbesideitwasabookboundinyellowpaper,thecoverslightlytornandtheedgessoiled.AcopyofthethirdeditionofTheSt.James’sGazettehadbeenplacedonthetea-tray.ItwasevidentthatVictorhadreturned.Hewonderedifhehadmetthemeninthehallastheywereleavingthehouseandhadwormedoutofthemwhattheyhadbeendoing.Hewouldbesuretomissthepicture—hadnodoubtmisseditalready,whilehehadbeenlayingthetea-things.Thescreenhadnotbeensetback,andablankspacewasvisibleonthewall.Perhapssomenighthemightfindhimcreepingupstairsandtryingtoforcethedooroftheroom.Itwasahorriblethingtohaveaspyinone’shouse.Hehadheardofrichmenwhohadbeenblackmailedalltheirlivesbysomeservantwhohadreadaletter,oroverheardaconversation,orpickedupacardwithanaddress,orfoundbeneathapillowawitheredflowerorashredofcrumpledlace. Hesighed,andhavingpouredhimselfoutsometea,openedLordHenry’snote.Itwassimplytosaythathesenthimroundtheeveningpaper,andabookthatmightinteresthim,andthathewouldbeattheclubateight-fifteen.HeopenedTheSt.James’slanguidly,andlookedthroughit.Aredpencil-markonthefifthpagecaughthiseye.Itdrewattentiontothefollowingparagraph: INQUESTONANACTRESS.—AninquestwasheldthismorningattheBellTavern,HoxtonRoad,byMr.Danby,theDistrictCoroner,onthebodyofSibylVane,ayoungactressrecentlyengagedattheRoyalTheatre,Holborn.Averdictofdeathbymisadventurewasreturned.Considerablesympathywasexpressedforthemotherofthedeceased,whowasgreatlyaffectedduringthegivingofherownevidence,andthatofDr.Birrell,whohadmadethepost-mortemexaminationofthedeceased. Hefrowned,andtearingthepaperintwo,wentacrosstheroomandflungthepiecesaway.Howuglyitallwas!Andhowhorriblyrealuglinessmadethings!HefeltalittleannoyedwithLordHenryforhavingsenthimthereport.Anditwascertainlystupidofhimtohavemarkeditwi