classic mystery and detective stories-第52章

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

caution　which　had　delayed　me　from　any　rash　manifestation　of

suspicions　now　seen　to　be　absurd。　　I　smiled　as　the　thought　arose：

what　if　this　suspected　stranger　should　also　be　pestered　by　an

active　imagination；　and　should　entertain　similar　suspicions　of　me？

He　must　have　seen　in　my　eyes　the　look　of　recognition　which　I　saw　in

his。　　On　hearing　of　the　murder；　our　meeting　may　also　have　recurred

to　him；　and　his　suspicions　would　have　this　color；　wanting　to　mine；

that　I　happen　to　inherit　with　my　Italian　blood　a　somewhat　truculent

appearance；　which　has　gained　for　me　among　my　friends　the　playful

sobriquet　of　〃the　brigand。〃



Anxious　to　atone　at　once　for　my　folly；　and　to　remove　from　my　mind

any　misgivingif　it　existedat　my　quitting　him　so　soon　after　the

disclosures　of　the　masquerading　details；　I　went　to　Bourgonef　as

soon　as　I　was　dressed　and　proposed　a　ramble　till　the　diligence

started　for　Munich。　　He　was　sympathetic　in　his　inquiries　about　my

colic；　which　I　assured　him　had　quite　passed　away；　and　out　we　went。

The　sharp　morning　air　of　March　made　us　walk　briskly；　and　gave　a

pleasant　animation　to　our　thoughts。　　As　he　discussed　the　acts　of

the　provisional　government；　so　wise；　temperate；　and　energetic；　the

fervor　and　generosity　of　his　sentiments　stood　out　in　such　striking

contrast　with　the　deed　I　had　last　night　recklessly　imputed　to　him

that　I　felt　deeply　ashamed；　and　was　nearly　carried　away　by　mingled

admiration　and　self…reproach　to　confess　the　absurd　vagrancy　of　my

thoughts　and　humbly　ask　his　pardon。　　But　you　can　understand　the

reluctance　at　a　confession　so　insulting　to　him；　so　degrading　to　me。

It　is　at　all　times　difficult　to　tell　a　man；　face　to　face；　eye　to

eye；　the　evil　you　have　thought　of　him；　unless　the　recklessness　of

anger　seizes　on　it　as　a　weapon　with　which　to　strike；　and　I　had　now

so　completely　unsaid　to　myself　all　that　I　once　had　thought　of　evil；

that　to　put　it　in　words　seemed　a　gratuitous　injury　to　me　and　insult

to　him。



A　day　or　two　after　our　arrival　in　Munich　a　reaction　began　steadily

to　set　in。　　Ashamed　as　I　was　of　my　suspicions；　I　could　not

altogether　banish　from　my　mind　the　incident　which　had　awakened

them。　　The　image　of　that　false　beard　would　mingle　with　my　thoughts。

I　was　vaguely　uncomfortable　at　the　idea　of　Bourgonef's　carrying

about　with　him　obvious　materials　of　disguise。　　In　itself　this　would

have　had　little　significance；　but　coupled　with　the　fact　that　his

devoted　servant　wasin　spite　of　all　Bourgonef's　eulogies

repulsively　ferocious　in　aspect；　capable；　as　I　could　not　help

believing；　of　any　brutality；the　suggestion　was　unpleasant。　　You

will　understand　that　having　emphatically　acquitted　Bourgonef　in　my

mind；　I　did　not　again　distinctly　charge　him　with　any　complicity　in

the　mysterious　murder；　on　the　contrary；　I　should　indignantly　have

repelled　such　a　thought；　but　the　uneasy　sense　of　some　mystery　about

him；　coupled　with　the　accessories　of　disguise；　and　the　aspect　of

the　servant；　gave　rise　to　dim；　shadowy　forebodings　which　ever　and

anon　passed　across　my　mind。



Did　it　ever　occur　to　you；　reader；　to　reflect　on　the　depths　of

deceit　which　lie　still　and　dark　even　in　the　honestest　minds？

Society　reposes　on　a　thin　crust　of　convention；　underneath　which　lie

fathomless　possibilities　of　crime；　and　consequently　suspicions　of

crime。　　Friendship；　however　close　and　dear；　is　not　free　from　its

reserves；　unspoken　beliefs；　more　or　less　suppressed　opinions。　　The

man　whom　you　would　indignantly　defend　against　any　accusation

brought　by　another；　so　confident　are　you　in　his　unshakable

integrity；　you　may　yourself　momentarily　suspect　of　crimes　far

exceeding　those　which　you　repudiate。　　Indeed；　I　have　known

sagacious　men　hold　that　perfect　frankness　in　expressing　the

thoughts　is　a　sure　sign　of　imperfect　friendship；　something　is

always　suppressed；　and　it　is　not　he　who　loves　you　that　〃tells　you

candidly　what　he　thinks〃　of　your　person；　your　pretensions；　your

children；　or　your　poems。　　Perfect　candor　is　dictated　by　envy；　or

some　other　unfriendly　feeling；　making　friendship　a　stalking…horse；

under　cover　of　which　it　shoots　the　arrow　which　will　rankle。

Friendship　is　candid　only　when　the　candor　is　urgentmeant　to　avert

impending　danger　or　to　rectify　an　error。　　The　candor　which　is　an

impertinence　never　springs　from　friendship。　　Love　is　sympathetic。



I　do　not；　of　course；　mean　to　intimate　that　my　feeling　for　Bourgonef

was　of　that　deep　kind　which　justifies　the　name　of　friendship。　　I

only　want　to　say　that　in　our　social　relations　we　are　constantly

hiding　from　each　other；　under　the　smiles　and　courtesies　of　friendly

interest；　thoughts　which；　if　expressed；　would　destroy　all　possible

communionand　that；　nevertheless；　we　are　not　insincere　in　our

smiles　and　courtesies；　and　therefore　there　is　nothing　paradoxical

in　my　having　felt　great　admiration　for　Bourgonef；　and　great

pleasure　in　his　society；　while　all　the　time　there　was　deep　down　in

the　recesses　of　my　thoughts　an　uneasy　sense　of　a　dark　mystery　which

possibly　connected　him　with　a　dreadful　crime。



This　feeling　was　roused　into　greater　activity　by　an　incident　which

now　occurred。　　One　morning　I　went　to　Bourgonef's　room；　which　was　at

some　distance　from　mine　on　the　same　floor；　intending　to　propose　a

visit　to　the　sculpture　at　the　Glyptothek。　　To　my　surprise　I　found

Ivan　the　serf　standing　before　the　closed　door。　　He　looked　at　me

like　a　mastiff　about　to　spring；　and　intimated　by　significant

gestures　that　I　was　not　allowed　to　enter　the　room。　　Concluding　that

his　master　was　occupied　in　some　way；　and　desired　not　to　be

disturbed；　I　merely　signified　by　a　nod　that　my　visit　was　of　no

consequence；　and　went　out。　　On　returning　about　an　hour　afterwards　I

saw　Ivan　putting　three　pink　letters　into　the　letter…box　of　the

hotel。　　I　attached　no　significance　to　this　very　ordinary　fact　at

the　time；　but　went　up　to　my　room　and　began　writing　my　letters；　one

of　which　was　to　my　lawyer；　sending　him　an　important　receipt。　　The

dinner…bell　sounded　before　I　had　half　finished　this　letter；　but　I

wrote　on；　determined　to　have　done　with　it　at　once；　in　case　the

afternoon　should　offer　any　expedition　with　Bourgonef。



At　dinner　he　quietly　intimated　that　Ivan　had　informed　him　of　my

visit；　and　apologized　for　not　having　been　able　to　see　me。　　I；　of

course；　assured　him　that　no　apology　was　necessary；　and　that　we　had

plenty　of　time　to　visit　sculpture　together　without　intruding　on　his

private　hours。　　He　informed　me　that　he　was　that　afternoon　going　to

pay　a　visit　to　Schwanthaler；　the　sculptor；　and　if　I　desired　it；　he

would　ask　permission　on　another　occasion　to　take　me　with　him。　　I

jumped　at　the　proposal；　as　may　be　supposed。



Dinner　over；　I　strolled　into　the　Englische　Garten；　and　had　my

coffee　and　cigar　there。　　On　my　return　I　was　vexed　to　find　that　in

the　hurry　of　finishing　my　letters　I　had　sealed　the　one　to　my

lawyer；　and　had　not　enclosed　the　receipt　which　had　been　the　object

of　writing。　　Fortunately　it　was　not　too　late。　　Descending　to　the

bureau　of　the　hotel；　I　explained　my　mistake　to　the　head…waiter；　who

unlocked　the　letter…box　to　search　for　my　letter。　　It　was　found　at

once；　for　there　were　only　seven　or　eight　in　the　box。　　Among　these

my　eye　naturally　caught　the　three　pink　letters　which　I　had　that

morning　seen　Ivan　drop　into　the　box；　but　although　they　were　SEEN　by

me　they　were　not　NOTICED　at　the　time；　my　mind　being　solely　occupied

with　rectifying　the　stupid　blunder　I　had　made。



Once　more　in　my　own　room　a　sudden　revelation　startled　me。　　Everyone

knows　what　it　is　to　have　details　come　under　the　eye　which　the　mind

first　interprets　long　after　the　eye　ceases　to　rest　upon　them。　　The

impressions　are　received　passively；　but　they　are　registered；　and

can　be　calmly　read　whenever　the　mind　is　in　activity。　　It　was　so

now。　　I　suddenly；　as　if　now　for　the　first　time；　saw　that　the

addresses　on　Bourgonef's　letters　were　written　in　a　fluent；　masterly

hand；　bold　in　character；　and　with　a　certain　sweep　which　might　have

come　from　a　painter。　　The　thrill　which　this　vision　gave　will　be

intelligible　when　you　remember　that　Bourgonef　had　lost　or　pretended

to　have　lost　his　right　arm；　and　was；　as　I　before　intimated；　far

from　dexterous　with　his　left。　　That　no　man　recently　thrown　upon　the

use　of　a　left　hand　could　have　written　those　addresses　was　too

evident。　　What；　then；　was　the　alternative？　　The　empty　sleeve　was　an

imposture！　　At　once　the　old　horrible　suspicion　returned；　and　this

time　with　tenfold　violence；　and　with　damnatory　confirmation。



Pressing　my　temples　between　my　hands；　I　tried　to　be　calm　and　to

survey　the　evidence　without　precipitation；　but　for　some　time　the

conflict　of　thoughts　was　too　violent。　　Whatever　might　be　the

explanation；　clear　it　was　that　Bourgonef；　for　some　purposes；　was

practising　a　deception；　and　had；　as　I　knew；　other　means　of

disguising　his　appearance。　　This；　on　the　most　favorable

interpretation；　branded　him　with　suspicion。　　This　excluded　him　from

the　circle　of　honest　men。



But　did　it　connect　him　with　the　murder　of　Lieschen　Lehfeldt？　　In　my

thought　it　did　so　indubitably；　but　I　was　aware　of　the　difficulty　of

making　this　clear　to　anyone　else。





VI



FIRST　LOVE





If　the　reader　feels　that　my　suspicions　were　not　wholly　unwarranted；

were　indeed　inevitable；　he　will　not　laugh　at　me　on　learning　that

once　more　these　suspicions　were　set　aside；　and　the　factthe

damnatory　fact；　as　I　regarded　itdiscovered　by　me　so　accidentally；

and；　I　thought；　providentially；　was　robbed　of　all　its　significance

by　Bourgonef　himself　casually　and　carelessly　avowing　it　in

conversation；　just　as　one　may　avow　a　secret　infirmity；　with　some

bitterness；　but　without　any　implication　of　deceit　in　its

concealment。



I　was　the　more　prepared　for　this　revulsion　of　feeling；　by　the

difficulty　I　felt　in　maintaining　my　suspicions　in　the　presence　of

one　so　gentle　and　so　refined。　　He　had　come　into　my　room　that

evening　to　tell　me　of　his　visit　to　Schwanthaler；　and　of　the

sculptor's　flattering　desire　to　make　my　personal　acquaintance。　　He

spoke　of　Schwanthaler；　and　his　earnest　efforts　in　art；　with　so　much

enthusiasm；　and　was　altogether　so　charming；　that　I　felt　abashed

before　him；　incapable　of　ridding　myself　of　the　dreadful　suspicions；

yet　incapable　of　firmly　believing　him　to　be　what　I　thought。　　But

more　than　this；　there　came　the　new　interest　awakened　in　me　by　his

story；　and　when；　in　the　course　of　his　story；　he　accidentally

disclosed　the　fact　that　he　had　not　lost　his　arm；　all　my　suspicions

vanished　at　once。



We　had　got；　as　usual；　upon　politics；　and　were　differing　more　than

usual；　because　he　gave　greater　prominence　to　his　sympathy　with　the

Red　Republicans。　　He　accused　me　of　not　being　〃thorough…going；〃

which　I　admitted。　　This　he　attributed　to　the　fact　of　my　giving　a

divided　heart　to　politicsa　condition　natural　enough　at　my　age；

and　with　my　hopes。　　〃Well；〃