look into the faces of the murderers around him and learn whether their looks meant life or death to him! Expecting every moment to feel the sharp stab of a knife or the fiery sting of a bullet! Seeing nothing and feeling nothing save the hands upon his throat and the dead body beneath him! Even hearing nothing save that stifled moaning in the distance! Can the wildest flights of fiction show a parallel to my case?
Since that night I have quite disbelieved in the possibility of people’s hair turning suddenly grey. If such a thing can be I must have left that room with the locks of an old man.
I can only say that even now as, after the lapse of years, I write this; even as I see everything around me safe, still, and at peace; even though I know the ones I love are close at hand, my pen trembles, my blood feels chilled, and a faintness steals over me as the recollection of the most terrible moments in my life comes to me with a vividness I cannot describe. It was well for me that I could keep still and cry again and again, ‘I am blind—look and see!’ My quiescence, the tone of my voice, may have turned the balance on which my life hung—may have carried conviction to my hearers. Presently the strong light of a lamp was perceptible to my obscured vision; a lamp placed so close to me that I could feel its hot glow upon my face; and I was aware that someone was stooping or kneeling down and peering into my eyes. His breath struck against my cheek: a short, quick, excited breath—how could it be otherwise after the deed in which he had just taken part?
At last he rose; a moment afterward the restraining hands moved from me, and then, for the first time, I began to hope that my life might be spared.
As yet none of those around me had spoken. Now I heard voices, but whispering so softly that even my sharpened ears could not catch the purport of a single word, although I could gather that three persons at least were engaged in that hushed consultation.
All the while, like a dreary and fitting accompaniment, I could hear that stifled moaning—a woman’s moaning. I would have given all I possessed—all save life—in exchange for a minute’s sight, that I might have been able to comprehend what had passed and what was passing around me.
Still the whispers continued. They came thick and fast, running into and interrupting each other, as from men in hot but guarded discussion. It needed little intelligence to guess the subject of that debate! Presently they died away altogether, and, for a time, the only sound I heard was that terrible, muffled moan—that continued with a dreary monotony.
A foot touched me. ‘You may stand up,’ I heard someone say. When I burst so recklessly into the room I fancied the exclamation with which I was greeted came from foreign lips, but the man who now addressed me spoke in pure English. By this time I was beginning to recover self-possession and was able to make a mental note of these facts.
Thankful at being allowed to quit my ghastly couch, I rose. As I could think of nothing better to do I stood motionless.
‘Walk this way—straight on—four paces,’ said the voice. I obeyed. The third step brought me in collision with the wall. No doubt this was an extra test as to the truth of my statement.
A hand was placed upon my shoulder and I was guided to a chair. ‘Now, sir,’ said the speaker who had before addressed me, ‘tell us, in as few words as possible, who you are—how and why you came here. Be quick, we have no time to spare.’
I well knew they had no time to spare. They had much to do—much to hide. Oh, for the gift of sight for one moment! I would purchase it, even if the price were years of darkness!
Shortly and simply as I could, I told them what had brought me into such straits. The only thing I concealed was my true name. Why should these assassins know it? If I revealed it they might set a watch upon me and at any moment their safety demanded it I might share the fate of him who lay within a few feet of my chair. So I gave a fictitious name, but everything else I told them was true.
All the while I was speaking I heard that distressing sound at the other end of the room. It drove me nearly mad. I believe, could I have made sure of reaching through my darkness and catching one of those men by the throat, with the certainty of crushing life out of him, I should have done so, even had such an act sealed my own fate.
When my explanation was over another whispered consultation took place. Then the spokesman demanded the key which had so nearly cost me my life. I suppose they tried it and found it acted as I said. It was not returned to me, but I heard the voice once more.
‘Fortunately for you we have decided to believe your tale. Stand up.’ I did so and was led to another part of the room and again placed in a chair. As, after the manner of the blind, I stretched out my hands, I found I was in a corner of the room, my face turned to the angle of the walls.
‘If you move or look around,’ said the voice, ‘our belief in your blindness will vanish.’
It was impossible to misunderstand the grim threat conveyed by the last words. I could only sit quiet and listen with all my ears.
Yes, they had much to do. They moved about busily and rapidly. I heard cupboards and drawers opened. I detected the sound of papers being torn and the smell of papers burning. I heard them raise some dead weight from the floor—heard a sound as of rent cloth and linen—heard the jingle of money, even the tick of a watch as it was drawn forth from somewhere and laid on the table near me. Then I felt a breath of air and knew that the door had been opened. I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs—the steps of men bearing a weighty burden, and I shuddered as I thought what that burden must be.
Before the last task was completed the woman’s moan had ceased. For some time it had been growing fainter and only sounding at recurring intervals. Now I heard it no longer. This cessation was a great relief to my overwrought nerves, but my heart grew sick as I thought it may be there were two victims instead of one.
Although at least two men must have borne that weight away, I knew I was not left alone. I heard someone throw himself into a chair with a half weary sigh and guessed he had been left to guard me. I was longing to make my escape—longing to wake and find I had been dreaming. The suspense or the nightmare was growing unbearable. I said, without turning my head, ‘How long am I to be kept amid these horrors?’
I heard the man move in his chair, but he made no answer. ‘May I not go?’ I pleaded. ‘I have seen nothing. Put me out into the street—anywhere. I shall go mad if I stay here longer.’
Still no answer. I said no more.
By and by the absent men returned to their companion. I heard the door close after them. Then came more whispers, and I heard the drawing of a cork and the jingle of glasses. They were refreshing themselves after the night’s dark work.
Presently a curious odour—that of some drug—was perceptible. A hand was laid on my shoulder and a glass full of some liquid was placed between my fingers.
‘Drink,’ said the voice—the only voice I had heard.
‘I will not,’ I cried, ‘it may be poison.’
I heard a short harsh laugh and felt a cold metallic ring laid against my forehead.
‘It is not poison; it is an opiate and will do you no harm. But this,’ and as he spoke I felt the pressure of the little iron circlet, ‘this is another affair. Choose!’
I drained the glass and was glad to feel the pistol moved from my head. ‘Now,’ said the spokesman, taking the empty glass from my hand, ‘if you are a wise man, when you awake tomorrow you will say, “I have been drunk or dreaming.” You have heard
