When I got back to my little sitting-room at the Hôtel de Portugal, I

experienced a certain timid hesitation in opening the door. For

several seconds I stood before it, the key in the lock, afraid to

enter. I wanted to rush out again, to walk the streets all night; it

was raining, but I thought that anything would be preferable to the

inside of my sitting-room. Then I felt that, whatever the cost, I must

go in; and, twisting the key, I pushed heavily at the door, and

entered, touching as I did so the electric switch. In the chair which

stood before the writing-table in the middle of the room sat the

figure of Lord Clarenceux.

Yes, my tormentor was indeed waiting. I had defied him, and we were

about to try a fall. As for me, I may say that my heart sank, sick

with an ineffable fear. The figure did not move as I went in; its back

was towards me. At the other end of the room was the doorway which

led to the small bedroom, little more than an alcove, and the gaze of

the apparition was fixed on this doorway.

I closed the outer door behind me, and locked it, and then I stood

still. In the looking-glass over the mantelpiece I saw a drawn, pale,

agitated face in which all the trouble of the world seemed to reside;

it was my own face. I was alone in the room with the ghost--the ghost

which, jealous of my love for the woman it had loved, meant to revenge

itself by my death.

A ghost, did I say? To look at it, no one would have taken it for an

apparition. No wonder that till the previous evening I had never

suspected it to be other than a man. It was dressed in black; it had

the very aspect of life. I could follow the creases in the frock coat,

the direction of the nap of the silk hat which it wore in my room. How

well by this time I knew that faultless black coat and that impeccable

hat! Yet it seemed that I could not examine them too closely. I

pierced them with the intensity of my fascinated glance. Yes, I

pierced them, for showing faintly through the coat I could discern the

outline of the table which should have been hidden by the man's

figure, and through the hat I could see the handle of the French

window.

As I stood motionless there, solitary under the glow of the electric

light with this fearful visitor, I began to wish that it would move. I

wanted to face it--to meet its gaze with my gaze, eye to eye, and will

against will. The battle between us must start at once, I thought, if

I was to have any chance of victory, for moment by moment I could feel

my resolution, my manliness, my mere physical courage, slipping away.




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