Портрет Доріана Грея

           Hestoppedseveraltimes,andwaited. No:everythingwasstill. Itwasmerelythesoundofhisownfootsteps. 

           Whenhereachedthelibrary,hesawthebagandcoatinthecorner. Theymustbehiddenawaysomewhere. Heunlockedasecretpressthatwasinthewainscoting,apressinwhichhekepthisowncuriousdisguises,andputthemintoit. Hecouldeasilyburnthemafterwards. Thenhepulledouthiswatch. Itwastwentyminutestotwo. 

           Hesatdown,andbegantothink. Everyyear—everymonth,almost—menwerestrangledinEnglandforwhathehaddone. Therehadbeenamadnessofmurderintheair. Someredstarhadcometooclosetotheearth.... Andyetwhatevidencewasthereagainsthim? BasilHallwardhadleftthehouseateleven. Noonehadseenhimcomeinagain. MostoftheservantswereatSelbyRoyal. Hisvalethadgonetobed.... Paris!Yes.ItwastoParisthatBasilhadgone,andbythemidnighttrain,ashehadintended. Withhiscuriousreservedhabits,itwouldbemonthsbeforeanysuspicionswouldbearoused. Months! Everythingcouldbedestroyedlongbeforethen. 

           Asuddenthoughtstruckhim. Heputonhisfurcoatandhat,andwentoutintothehall. Therehepaused,hearingtheslowheavytreadofthepolicemanonthepavementoutside,andseeingtheflashofthebull’s-eyereflectedinthewindow. Hewaited,andheldhisbreath. 

           Afterafewmomentshedrewbackthelatch,andslippedout,shuttingthedoorverygentlybehindhim. Thenhebeganringingthebell. Inaboutfiveminuteshisvaletappearedhalfdressed,andlookingverydrowsy.