classic mystery and detective stories-第51章

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that　during　three　separate　interviews；　in　the　course　of　which　I

severally；　and　as　I　thought　artfully；　introduced　these　topics；

making　them　seem　to　arise　naturally　out　of　the　suggestion　of　our

talk；　I　totally　failed　to　arrive　at　any　distinct　conclusion。　　I　was

afraid　to　put　the　direct　question：　　Do　you　not　share　the　common

feeling　of　interest　in　criminal　stories？　　This　question　would

doubtless　have　elicited　a　categorical　reply；　but　somehow；　the

consciousness　of　an　arriere…pensee　made　me　shrink　from　putting　such

a　question。



Reflecting　on　this　indifference　on　a　special　point；　and　on　the

numerous　manifestations　I　had　noticed　of　his　sensibility；　I　came　at

last　to　the　conclusion　that　he　must　be　a　man　of　tender　heart；　whose

delicate　sensibilities　easily　shrank　from　the　horrible　under　every

form；　and　no　more　permitted　him　to　dwell　unnecessarily　upon　painful

facts；　than　they　permit　imaginative　minds　to　dwell　on　the　details

of　an　operation。



I　had　not　long　settled　this　in　my　mind　before　an　accident　suddenly

threw　a　lurid　light　upon　many　details　noticed　previously；　and

painfully　revived　that　inexplicable　repulsion　with　which　I　had　at

first　regarded　him。　　A　new　suspicion　filled　my　mind；　or　rather；　let

me　say；　a　distinct　shape　was　impressed　upon　many　fluctuating

suspicions。　　It　scarcely　admitted　of　argument；　and　at　times　seemed

preposterous；　nevertheless　it　persisted。　　The　mind　which　in　broad

daylight　assents　to　all　that　can　be　alleged　against　the　absurdities

of　the　belief　in　apparitions；　will　often　acknowledge　the　dim

terrors　of　darkness　and　lonelinessterrors　at　possibilities　of

supernatural　visitations。　　In　like　manner；　in　the　clear　daylight　of

reason　I　could　see　the　absurdity　of　my　suspicion；　but　the　vague

stirrings　of　feeling　remained　unsilenced。　　I　was　haunted　by　the　dim

horrors　of　a　possibility。



Thus　it　arose。　　We　were　both　going　to　Munich；　and　Bourgonef　had

shortened　his　contemplated　stay　at　Nuremberg　that　he　might　have　the

pleasure　of　accompanying　me；　adding　also　that　he；　too；　should　be

glad　to　reach　Munich；　not　only　for　its　art；　but　for　its　greater

command　of　papers　and　intelligence　respecting　what　was　then　going

on　in　France。　　On　the　night　preceding　the　morning　of　our　departure；

I　was　seated　in　his　room；　smoking　and　discussing　as　usual；　while

Ivan；　his　servant；　packed　up　his　things　in　two　large　portmanteaus。



Ivan　was　a　serf　who　spoke　no　word　of　any　language　but　his　own。

Although　of　a　brutal；　almost　idiotic　type；　he　was　loudly　eulogized

by　his　master　as　the　model　of　fidelity　and　usefulness。　　Bourgonef

treated　him　with　gentleness；　though　with　a　certain　imperiousness；

much　as　one　might　treat　a　savage　mastiff　which　it　was　necessary　to

dominate　without　exasperating。　　He　more　than　once　spoke　of　Ivan　as

a　living　satire　on　physiognomists　and　phrenologists；　and　as　I　am　a

phrenologist；　I　listened　with　some　incredulity。



〃Look　at　him；〃　he　would　say。　　〃Observe　the　low；　retreating　brow；

the　flat　face；　the　surly　mouth；　the　broad　base　of　the　head；　and　the

huge　bull…like　neck。　　Would　not　anyone　say　Ivan　was　as　destructive

as　a　panther；　as　tenacious　as　a　bull…dog；　as　brutal　as　a　bull？　　Yet

he　is　the　gentlest　of　sluggish　creatures；　and　as　tender…hearted　as

a　girl！　　That　thick…set　muscular　frame　shrouds　a　hare's　heart。　　He

is　so　faithful　and　so　attached　that　I　believe　for　me　he　would　risk

his　life；　but　on　no　account　could　you　get　him　to　place　himself　in

danger　on　his　own　account。　　Part　of　his　love　for　me　is　gratitude

for　having　rescued　him　from　the　conscription：　the　dangers　incident

to　a　military　life　had　no　charm　for　him！〃



Now；　although　Bourgonef；　who　was　not　a　phrenologist；　might　be

convinced　of　the　absence　of　ferocious　instincts　in　Ivan；　to　me；　as

a　phrenologist；　the　statement　was　eminently　incredible。　　All　the

appearances　of　his　manner　were　such　as　to　confirm　his　master's

opinion。　　He　was　quiet；　even　tender　in　his　attentions。　　But　the

tyrannous　influence　of　ideas　and　physical　impressions　cannot　be　set

aside；　and　no　evidence　would　permanently　have　kept　down　my　distrust

of　this　man。　　When　women　shriek　at　the　sight　of　a　gun；　it　is　in

vain　that　you　solemnly　assure　them　that　the　gun　is　not　loaded。　　〃I

don't　know；〃　they　reply；〃at　any　rate；　I　don't　like　it。〃　　I　was

much　in　this　attitude　with　regard　to　Ivan。　　He　might　be　harmless。

I　didn't　know　that；　what　I　did　know　wasthat　I　didn't　like　his

looks。



On　this　night　he　was　moving　noiselessly　about　the　room；　employed　in

packing。　　Bourgonef's　talk　rambled　over　the　old　themes；　and　I

thought　I　had　never　before　met　with　one　of　my　own　age　whose　society

was　so　perfectly　delightful。　　He　was　not　so　conspicuously　my

superior　on　all　points　that　I　felt　the　restraints　inevitably

imposed　by　superiority；　yet　he　was　in　many　respects　sufficiently

above　me　in　knowledge　and　power　to　make　me　eager　to　have　his　assent

to　my　views　where　we　differed；　and　to　have　him　enlighten　me　where　I

knew　myself　to　be　weak。



In　the　very　moment　of　my　most　cordial　admiration　came　a　shock。

Ivan；　on　passing　from　one　part　of　the　room　to　the　other；　caught　his

foot　in　the　strap　of　the　portmanteau　and　fell。　　The　small　wooden

box；　something　of　a　glove…box；　which　he　held　in　his　hand　at　the

time；　fell　on　the　floor；　and　falling　over；　discharged　its　contents

close　to　Bourgonef's　feet。　　The　objects　which　caught　my　eyes　were

several　pairs　of　gloves；　a　rouge…pot　and　hare's　foot；　and　a　black

beard！



By　what　caprice　of　imagination　was　it　that　the　sight　of　this　false

beard　lying　at　Bourgonef's　feet　thrilled　me　with　horror？　　In　one

lightning…flash　I　beheld　the　archwaythe　stranger　with　the

startled　eyesthis　stranger　no　longer　unknown　to　me；　but　too

fatally　recognized　as　Bourgonefand　at　his　feet　the　murdered　girl！



Moved　by　what　subtle　springs　of　suggestion　I　know　not；　but　there

before　me　stood　that　dreadful　vision；　seen　in　a　lurid　light；　but

seen　as　clearly　as　if　the　actual　presence　of　the　objects　were

obtruding　itself　upon　my　eyes。　　In　the　inexpressible　horror　of　this

vision　my　heart　seemed　clutched　with　an　icy　hand。



Fortunately　Bourgonef's　attention　was　called　away　from　me。　　He

spoke　angrily　some　short　sentence；　which　of　course　was　in　Russian；

and　therefore　unintelligible　to　me。　　He　then　stooped；　and　picking

up　the　rouge…pot；　held　it　towards　me　with　his　melancholy　smile。　　He

was　very　red　in　the　face；　but　that　may　have　been　either　anger　or

the　effect　of　sudden　stooping。　　〃I　see　you　are　surprised　at　these

masquerading　follies；〃　he　said　in　a　tone　which；　though　low；　was

perfectly　calm。　　〃You　must　not　suppose　that　I　beautify　my　sallow

cheeks　on　ordinary　occasions。〃



He　then　quietly　handed　the　pot　to　Ivan；　who　replaced　it　with　the

gloves　and　the　beard　in　the　box；　and　after　making　an　inquiry　which

sounded　like　a　growl；　to　which　Bourgonef　answered　negatively；　he

continued　his　packing。



Bourgonef　resumed　his　cigar　and　his　argument　as　if　nothing　had

happened。



The　vision　had　disappeared；　but　a　confused　mass　of　moving　figures

took　its　place。　　My　heart　throbbed　so　violently　that　it　seemed　to

me　as　if　its　tumult　must　be　heard　by　others。　　Yet　my　face　must　have

been　tolerably　calm；　since　Bourgonef　made　no　comment　on　it。



I　answered　his　remarks　in　vague　fragments；　for；　in　truth；　my

thoughts　were　flying　from　conjecture　to　conjecture。　　I　remembered

that　the　stranger　had　a　florid　complexion；　was　this　rouge？　　It　is

true　that　I　fancied　the　stranger　carried　a　walking…stick　in　his

right　hand；　if　so；　this　was　enough　to　crush　all　suspicions　of　his

identity　with　Bourgonef；　but　then　I　was　rather　hazy　on　this　point；

and　probably　did　not　observe　a　walking…stick。



After　a　while　my　inattention　struck　him；　and　looking　at　me　with

some　concern；　he　inquired　if　there　was　anything　the　matter。　　I

pleaded　a　colic；　which　I　attributed　to　the　imprudence　of　having

indulged　in　sauerkraut　at　dinner。　　He　advised　me　to　take　a　little

brandy；　but；　affecting　a　fresh　access　of　pain；　I　bade　him　good…

night。　　He　hoped　I　should　be　all　right　on　the　morrowif　not；　he

added；　we　can　postpone　our　journey　till　the　day　after。



Once　in　my　own　room　I　bolted　the　door；　and　sat　down　on　the　edge　of

the　bed　in　a　tumult　of　excitement。





V



FLUCTUATIONS





Alone　with　my　thoughts；　and　capable　of　pursuing　conjectures　and

conclusions　without　external　interruption；　I　quickly　exhausted　all

the　hypothetical　possibilities　of　the　case；　and；　from　having

started　with　the　idea　that　Bourgonef　was　the　assassin；　I　came　at

last　to　the　more　sensible　conclusion　that　I　was　a　constructive

blockhead。　　My　suspicions　were　simply　outrageous　in　their　defect　of

evidence；　and　could　never　for　one　moment　have　seemed　otherwise　to

any　imagination　less　riotously　active　than　mine。



I　bathed　my　heated　head；　undressed　myself；　and　got　into　bed；

considering　what　I　should　say　to　the　police　when　I　went　next

morning　to　communicate　my　suspicions。　　And　it　is　worthy　of　remark；

as　well　as　somewhat　ludicrously　self…betraying；　that　no　sooner　did

I　mentally　see　myself　in　the　presence　of　the　police；　and　was　thus

forced　to　confront　my　suspicions　with　some　appearance　of　evidence；

than　the　whole　fabric　of　my　vision　rattled　to　the　ground。　　What　had

I　to　say　to　the　police？　　Simply　that；　on　the　evening　of　the　night

when　Lieschen　was　murdered；　I　had　passed　in　a　public　thoroughfare　a

man　whom　I　could　not　identify；　but　who　as　I　could　not　help

fancying；　seemed　to　recognize　me。　　This　man；　I　had　persuaded

myself；　was　the　murderer；　for　which　persuasion　I　was　unable　to

adduce　a　tittle　of　evidence。　　It　was　uncolored　by　the　remotest

possibility。　　It　was　truly　and　simply　the　suggestion　of　my　vagrant

fancy；　which　had　mysteriously　settled　itself　into　a　conviction；　and

having　thus　capriciously　identified　the　stranger　with　Lieschen's

murderer；　I　now；　upon　evidence　quite　as　preposterous；　identified

Bourgonef　with　the　stranger。



The　folly　became　apparent　even　to　myself。　　If　Bourgonef　had　in　his

possession　a　rouge…pot　and　false　beard；　I　could　not　but　acknowledge

that　he　made　no　attempt　to　conceal　them；　nor　had　he　manifested　any

confusion　on　their　appearance。　　He　had　quietly　characterized　them

as　masquerading　follies。　　Moreover；　I　now　began　to　remember

distinctly　that　the　stranger　did　carry　a　walking…stick　in　his　right

hand；　and　as　Bourgonef　had　lost　his　right　arm；　that　settled　the

point。



Into　such　complications；　would　the　tricks　of　imagination　lead　me！

I　blushed　mentally；　and　resolved　to　let　it　serve　as　a　lesson　in

future。　　It　is　needless；　however；　to　say　that　the　lesson　was　lost；

as　such　lessons　always　are　lost；　a　strong　tendency　in　any　direction

soon　disregards　all　the　teachings　of　experience。　　I　am　still　not

the　less　the　victim　of　my　constructive　imagination；　because　I　have

frequently　had　to　be　ashamed　of　its　vagaries。



The　next　morning　I　awoke　with　a　lighter　breast；　rejoicing　in　the

caution　which　had　delayed　me　fro