The Argosy — page 78: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Number Twenty-five. 65 The next day I went out early and came in late, running against the doctor on the steps. He didn’t stop to speak to me, but the manager informed me there had been some unpleasantness between him and Mr. Loseby, who was anxious to take his wife away at once. The doctor had objected strongly ; had said it was the worst thing they could do. I saw Loseby in the smoking-room. He was going to Hastings next morning to see about rooms, and meant to arrange for an invalid car- riage and to have a doctor in waiting on their arrival. ‘The maid she had at present would accompany them. He took down my address care- fully, and hoped to see me in town, and then said ‘‘ Good-bye,” as it was unlikely we should meet before his departure. I looked at the door as I passed that night, but all was silent. I was getting to feel that I had had enough of the place, and to wonder whether it was worth staying till Friday. The next day’s sunshine faded at noon, anda cold grey mist blew up from the sea. 1 hurried back to the Imperial, chilly and discontented, and shut myself in my room, determined to pack up as soon as ever the sketch from my window was completed. The place was intensely quiet. I could hear the bleating of the sheep in a distant field, and the voices of the children calling to one another on the shore. When I began to analyse the indistinct murmurs that fell on my ear, I became aware of something that was not the sea or the buzz of voices in the coffee- room—a subdued, monotonous sound, nearer at hand. I opened my door and listened. A woman’s voice, unmistakably, that rose and fell in a faint, smothered wail. I walked as noisily as I could down the passage and back, whistling softly. The wailing ceased suddenly, and then the door was violently, des- perately shaken. “Let me out! Send for the police! Help! Murder!” “The door is locked,” I said, trying it. ‘‘ How can I help you, Mrs. Loseby ?” “Ah! They have me fast. I shall never go from here but to my grave,” she moaned. “What can I do for you? ‘Tell me quickly,” I said. ‘Get me something to write with.” I ran to my room, selected paper, envelope, and a long, thin pencil, and going back tried to push them under the door. It’ fitted all too well over the heavy Saxony carpet. I got them through the keyhole at last. She murmured some eager thanks. “‘ You must return them in the same way,” I whispered. “I will watch here and post your letter.” I walked to the far end of the corridor, and pushing aside the cur- tain, kept watch for some ten minutes; at the end of which I saw the pretty, quaint cap worn by all the chambermaids of the hotel sur- mounting the ugly, lowering black fringe of Mrs. Loseby’s maid emerge _ from below, just in time to stride back to the door, whisper a word of VOL. XXXV. E ECORnNIClOOKS (CO)