The Argosy — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

68) Number Twenty-five. franticly, desperately. I laid my hand on the latch and all was instantly stall. Hurrying off to my room, with a curt adieu to Schmidt, I sat down to hold a serious inquiry into the state of my mind and nerves. Deciding that I was over-tired and that sleep would be out of the question, I filled my pipe and went down, intending to walk the Parade as long as my legs would carry me, and perhaps consult a doctor next morning. Opening my portmanteau in search of a favourite cap, there on the top of my possessions lay the old port- folio of Losthaven sketches. How I had come to pack it, I cannot imagine. The manager—a new one—was in the hall. He looked surprised when I mentioned my intention of walking the Parade till sunrise, or perhaps later; but was civil. I asked him if he could tell me who had No. 25, now. He referred politely to his books and said “ No one,” ‘‘When was it last occupied?” I continued. ‘ Not since I have been here,” returned he. ‘But why not ?” ‘*Pure chance,” replied he, sleepily. ‘‘ We have never been quite full yet.” ‘A sick lady and her husband occupied those rooms when I was here in February. She had met with an accident. ‘They afterwards went away to Hastings.” ‘“‘ Ay, poor thing, I have heard them talk of it here,” said the man- | ager. ‘‘She died very soon.” “ Thed ?” : ‘Yes. I think she only lived a day or two.” | Wishing him good-night, I went out to the Parade, mind and brain alike busy. I saw Oscar off to church in the wake of Pauline next day, and then resolutely made my way to the scene of my last night’s fancies. All was light and stir in the corridor. A passing chambermaid smilingly produced her master-key and admitted me into No. 25, at my request, and left me there. I drew up the blind and let in the sunshine, and seating myself in a big chintz-covered chair, began quietly to contemplate my surroundings as one stares at the familiar shapes around one to gather reassurance after the terrors of a dream. A handsomely furnished room. Plenty of looking-glass, carved wood, and Japanese pottery about ; evidently one of the grandest rooms the Imperial possessed. I looked at the Indian-patterned chintz, the Empire clock and vases, with a determined interest, and yet all my mind was full, despite myself, of the one dark picture. The helpless victim dying here, inch by inch, under the cruel eyes of her murderers. ‘Better that he had killed her outright that night,” I said, and then started to my feet in consternation at the end to which my vagrant imaginings had led me. Gomicbooksneo