Портрет Дориана Грея
Chapter 19
Theywalkedontilltheymetapoliceman,andbroughthimback. Themanrangthebellseveraltimes,buttherewasnoanswer. Exceptforalightinoneofthetopwindows,thehousewasalldark. Afteratime,hewentawayandstoodinanadjoiningporticoandwatched.
"Whosehouseisthat,constable?"askedtheelderofthetwogentlemen.
"Mr.DorianGray’s,sir,"answeredthepoliceman.
Theylookedateachother,astheywalkedawayandsneered.OneofthemwasSirHenryAshton’suncle.
Inside,intheservants’partofthehouse,thehalf-claddomesticsweretalkinginlowwhisperstoeachother. OldMrs.Leafwascryingandwringingherhands.Franciswasaspaleasdeath.
Afteraboutaquarterofanhour,hegotthecoachmanandoneofthefootmenandcreptupstairs. Theyknocked,buttherewasnoreply.Theycalledout. Everythingwasstill.Finally,aftervainlytryingtoforcethedoor,theygotontheroof,anddroppeddownontothebalcony. Thewindowsyieldedeasily;theirboltswereold.
Whentheyenteredtheyfound,hanginguponthewall,asplendidportraitoftheirmasterastheyhadlastseenhim,inallthewonderofhisexquisiteyouthandbeauty. Lyingonthefloorwasadeadman,ineveningdress,withaknifeinhisheart. Hewaswithered,wrinkled,andloathsomeofvisage. Itwasnottilltheyhadexaminedtheringsthattheyrecognisedwhoitwas.