Tales of Terror and Mystery

The Beetle-Hunter

           Ifyouwillwatchuntiltwo,Iwillwatchtheremainder."

           "Verygood."

           "Callmeattwoo’clock,then."

           "Iwilldoso."

           "Keepyourearsopen,andifyouhearanysoundswakemeinstantly—instantly,youhear?"

           "Youcanrelyuponit."Itriedtolookassolemnashedid.

           "AndforGod’ssakedon’tgotosleep,"saidhe,andso,takingoffonlyhiscoat,hethrewthecoverletoverhimandsettleddownforthenight.

           Itwasamelancholyvigil,andmademoresobymyownsenseofitsfolly.SupposingthatbyanychanceLordLinchmerehadcausetosuspectthathewassubjecttodangerinthehouseofSirThomasRossiter,whyonearthcouldhenotlockhisdoorandsoprotecthimself?Hisownanswerthathemightwishtobeattackedwasabsurd.Whyshouldhepossiblywishtobeattacked?Andwhowouldwishtoattackhim?Clearly,LordLinchmerewassufferingfromsomesingulardelusion,andtheresultwasthatonanimbecilepretextIwastobedeprivedofmynight’srest.Still,howeverabsurd,IwasdeterminedtocarryouthisinjunctionstotheletteraslongasIwasinhisemployment.Isat,therefore,besidetheemptyfireplace,andlistenedtoasonorouschimingclocksomewheredownthepassagewhichgurgledandstruckeveryquarterofanhour.Itwasanendlessvigil.Saveforthatsingleclock,anabsolutesilencereignedthroughoutthegreathouse.Asmalllampstoodonthetableatmyelbow,throwingacircleoflightroundmychair,butleavingthecornersoftheroomdrapedinshadow.OnthebedLordLinchmerewasbreathingpeacefully.

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