CHAPTER XIII.
關燈
小
中
大
.Hestabbedhimtwicemore,butthemandidnotmove.Somethingbegantotrickleonthefloor.Hewaitedforamoment,stillpressingtheheaddown.Thenhethrewtheknifeonthetable,andlistened.
Hecouldhearnothing,butthedrip,driponthethreadbarecarpet.Heopenedthedoorandwentoutonthelanding.Thehousewasabsolutelyquiet.Noonewasabout.Forafewsecondshestoodbendingoverthebalustradeandpeeringdownintotheblackseethingwellofdarkness.Thenhetookoutthekeyandreturnedtotheroom,lockinghimselfinashedidso.
Thethingwasstillseatedinthechair,strainingoverthetablewithbowedhead,andhumpedback,andlongfantasticarms.Haditnotbeenfortheredjaggedtearintheneckandtheclottedblackpoolthatwasslowlywideningonthetable,onewouldhavesaidthatthemanwassimplyasleep.
Howquicklyithadallbeendone!Hefeltstrangelycalm,andwalkingovertothewindow,openeditandsteppedoutonthebalcony.Thewindhadblownthefogaway,andtheskywaslikeamonstrouspeacock’stail,starredwithmyriadsofgoldeneyes.Helookeddownandsawthepolicemangoinghisroundsandflashingthelongbeamofhislanternonthedoorsofthesilenthouses.Thecrimsonspotofaprowlinghansomgleamedatthecornerandthenvanished.Awomaninaflutteringshawlwascreepingslowlybytherailings,staggeringasshewent.Nowandthenshestoppedandpeeredback.Once,shebegantosinginahoarsevoice.Thepolicemanstrolledoverandsaidsomethingtoher.Shestumbledaway,laughing.Abitterblastsweptacrossthesquare.Thegas-lampsflickeredandbecameblue,andtheleaflesstreesshooktheirblackironbranchestoandfro.Heshiveredandwentback,closingthewindowbehindhim.
Havingreachedthedoor,heturnedthekeyandopenedit.Hedidnotevenglanceatthemurderedman.Hefeltthatthesecretofthewholethingwasnottorealizethesituation.Thefriendwhohadpaintedthefatalportraittowhichallhismiseryhadbeenduehadgoneoutofhislife.Thatwasenough.
Thenherememberedthelamp.ItwasarathercuriousoneofMoorishworkmanship,madeofdullsilverinlaidwitharabesquesofburnishedsteel,andstuddedwithcoarseturquoises.Perhapsitmightbemissedbyhisservant,andquestionswouldbeasked.Hehesitatedforamoment,thenheturnedbackandtookitfromthetable.Hecouldnothelpseeingthedeadthing.Howstillitwas!Howhorriblywhitethelonghandslooked!Itwaslikeadreadfulwaximage.
Havinglockedthedoorbehindhim,hecreptquietlydownstairs.Thewoodworkcreakedandseemedtocryoutasifinpain.Hestopped
