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.
