Ranson's Folly (Fiscle Part 3) by Richard Harding Davis (dar e dil novel online reading TXT) 📕

And Of The Changes Which Had Come To Us Since We Had Last Met There.

As I Was Leaving The Next Morning For My Post At Petersburg,  And Had

Many Letters To Write,  I Told Him,  About Ten O'clock,  That I Must Get

Back To The Hotel,  And He Sent Out His Servant To Call A Hansom.

"For The Next Quarter Of An Hour,  As We Sat Talking,  We Could Hear

The Cab-Whistle Sounding,  Violently,  From The Doorstep,  But

Apparently With No Result.

"'It Cannot Be That The Cabmen Are On Strike,' My Friend Said,  As He

Rose And Walked To The Window.

"He Pulled Back The Curtains And At Once Called To Me.

"'You Have Never Seen A London Fog,  Have You?' He Asked. 'Well,  Come

Here. This Is One Of The Best,  Or,  Rather,  One Of The Worst,  Of

Them.' I Joined Him At The Window,  But I Could See Nothing. Had I Not

Known That The House Looked Out Upon The Street I Would Have Believed

That I Was Facing A Dead Wall. I Raised The Sash And Stretched Out My

Head,  But Still I Could See Nothing. Even The Light Of The Street-

Lamps,  Opposite,  And In The Upper Windows Of The Barracks,  Had Been

Smothered In The Yellow Mist. The Lights Of The Room In Which I Stood

Penetrated The Fog Only To The Distance Of A Few Inches From My Eyes.

"Below Me The Servant Was Still Sounding His Whistle,  But I Could

Afford To Wait No Longer,  And Told My Friend That I Would Try And

Find The Way To My Hotel On Foot. He Objected,  But The Letters I Had

To Write Were For The Navy Department,  And,  Besides,  I Had Always

Heard That To Be Out In A London Fog Was The Most Wonderful

Experience,  And I Was Curious To Investigate One For Myself.

"My Friend Went With Me To His Front Door,  And Laid Down A Course For

Me To Follow. I Was First To Walk Straight Across The Street To The

Brick Wall Of The Knightsbridge Barracks. I Was Then To Feel My Way

Along The Wall Until I Came To A Row Of Houses Set Back From The

Sidewalk. They Would Bring Me To A Cross Street. On The Other Side Of

This Street Was A Row Of Shops Which I Was To Follow Until They

Joined The Iron Railings Of Hyde Park. I Was To Keep To The Railings

Until I Reached The Gates At Hyde Park Corner,  Where I Was To Lay A

Diagonal Course Across Piccadilly,  And Tack In Toward The Railings Of

Green Park. At The End Of These Railings,  Going East,  I Would Find

The Walsingham,  And My Own Hotel.

"To A Sailor The Course Did Not Seem Difficult,  So I Bade My Friend

Good-Night And Walked Forward Until My Feet Touched The Paving. I

Continued Upon It Until I Reached The Curbing Of The Sidewalk. A Few

Steps Further,  And My Hands Struck The Wall Of The Barracks. I Turned

In The Direction From Which I Had Just Come,  And Saw A Square Of

Faint Light Cut In The Yellow Fog. I Shouted,  'All Right,' And The

Voice Of My Friend Answered,  'Good Luck To You.' The Light From His

Open Door Disappeared With A Bang,  And I Was Left Alone In A

Dripping,  Yellow Darkness. I Have Been In The Navy For Ten Years,  But

I Have Never Known Such A Fog As That Of Last Night,  Not Even Among

The Icebergs Of Behring Sea. There One At Least Could See The Light

Of The Binnacle,  But Last Night I Could Not Even Distinguish The Hand

By Which I Guided Myself Along The Barrack-Wall. At Sea A Fog Is A

Natural Phenomenon. It Is As Familiar As The Rainbow Which Follows A

Storm,  It Is As Proper That A Fog Should Spread Upon The Waters As

That Steam Shall Rise From A Kettle. But A Fog Which Springs From The

Paved Streets,  That Rolls Between Solid House-Fronts,  That Forces

Cabs To Move At Half Speed,  That Drowns Policemen And Extinguishes

The Electric Lights Of The Music-Hall,  That To Me Is

Incomprehensible. It Is As Out Of Place As A Tidal Wave On Broadway.

"As I Felt My Way Along The Wall,  I Encountered Other Men Who Were

Coming From The Opposite Direction,  And Each Time When We Hailed Each

Other I Stepped Away From The Wall To Make Room For Them To Pass. But

The Third Time I Did This,  When I Reached Out My Hand,  The Wall Had

Disappeared,  And The Further I Moved To Find It The Further I Seemed

To Be Sinking Into Space. I Had The Unpleasant Conviction That At Any

Moment I Might Step Over A Precipice. Since I Had Set Out,  I Had

Heard No Traffic In The Street,  And Now,  Although I Listened Some

Minutes,  I Could Only Distinguish The Occasional Footfalls Of

Pedestrians. Several Times I Called Aloud,  And Once A Jocular

Gentleman Answered Me,  But Only To Ask Me Where I Thought He Was,  And

Then Even He Was Swallowed Up In The Silence. Just Above Me I Could

Make Out A Jet Of Gas Which I Guessed Came From A Street-Lamp,  And I

Moved Over To That,  And,  While I Tried To Recover My Bearings,  Kept

My Hand On The Iron Post. Except For This Nicker Of Gas,  No Larger

Than The Tip Of My Finger,  I Could Distinguish Nothing About Me. For

The Rest,  The Mist Hung Between Me And The World Like A Damp And

Heavy Blanket.

"I Could Hear Voices,  But I Could Not Tell From Whence They Came,  And

The Scrape Of A Foot,  Moving Cautiously,  Or A Muffled Cry As Someone

Stumbled,  Were The Only Sounds That Reached Me.

"I Decided That Until Someone Took Me In I Had Best Remain Where I

Was,  And It Must Have Been For Ten Minutes That I Waited By The Lamp,

Straining My Ears And Hailing Distant Footfalls. In A House Near Me

Some People Were Dancing To The Music Of A Hungarian Band. I Even

Fancied I Could Hear The Windows Shake To The Rhythm Of Their Feet,

But I Could Not Make Out From Which Part Of The Compass The Sounds

Came. And Sometimes,  As The Music Rose,  It Seemed Close At My Hand,

And,  Again,  To Be Floating High In The Air Above My Head. Although I

Was Surrounded By Thousands Of Householders,  I Was As Completely Lost

As Though I Had Been Set Down By Night In The Sahara Desert. There

Seemed To Be No Reason In Waiting Longer For An Escort,  So I Again

Set Out,  And At Once Bumped Against A Low,  Iron Fence. At First I

Believed This To Be An Area Railing,  But,  On Following It,  I Found

That It Stretched For A Long Distance,  And That It Was Pierced At

Regular Intervals With Gates. I Was Standing,  Uncertainly,  With My

Hand On One Of These,  When A Square Of Light Suddenly Opened In The

Night,  And In It I Saw,  As You See A Picture Thrown By A Biograph In

A Darkened Theatre,  A Young Gentleman In Evening Dress,  And,  Back Of

Him,  The Lights Of A Hall. I Guessed,  From Its Elevation And Distance

From The Sidewalk,  That This Light Must Come From The Door Of A House

Set Back From The Street,  And I Determined To Approach It And Ask The

Young Man To Tell Me Where I Was. But,  In Fumbling With The Lock Of

The Gate,  I Instinctively Bent My Head,  And When I Raised It Again

The Door Had Partly Closed,  Leaving Only A Narrow Shaft Of Light.

Whether The Young Man Had Re-Entered The House,  Or Had Left It I

Could Not Tell,  But I Hastened To Open The Gate,  And As I Stepped

Forward I Found Myself Upon An Asphalt Walk. At The Same Instant

There Was The Sound Of Quick Steps Upon The Path,  And Someone Rushed

Past Me. I Called To Him,  But He Made No Reply,  And I Heard The Gate

Click And The Footsteps Hurrying Away Upon The Sidewalk.

"Under Other Circumstances The Young Man's Rudeness,  And His

Recklessness In Dashing So Hurriedly Through The Mist,  Would Have

Struck Me As Peculiar,  But Everything Was So Distorted By The Fog

That At The Moment I Did Not Consider It. The Door Was Still As He

Had Left It,  Partly Open. I Went Up The Path,  And,  After Much

Fumbling,  Found The Knob Of The Door-Bell And Gave It A Sharp Pull.

The Bell Answered Me From A Great Depth And Distance,  But No Movement

Followed From Inside The House,  And,  Although I Pulled The Bell Again

And Again,  I Could Hear Nothing Save The Dripping Of The Mist About

Me. I Was Anxious To Be On My Way,  But Unless I Knew Where I Was

Going There Was Little Chance Of My Making Any Speed,  And I Was

Determined That Until I Learned My Bearings I Would Not Venture Back

Into The Fog. So I Pushed The Door Open And Stepped Into The House.

"I Found Myself In A Long And Narrow Hall,  Upon Which Doors Opened

From Either Side. At The End Of The Hall Was A Staircase With A

Balustrade Which Ended In A Sweeping Curve. The Balustrade Was

Covered With Heavy,  Persian Rugs,  And The Walls Of The Hall Were Also

Hung With Them. The Door On My Left Was Closed,  But The One Nearer Me

On The Right Was Open,  And,  As I Stepped Opposite To It,  I Saw That

It Was A Sort Of Reception Or Waiting-Room,  And That It Was Empty.

The Door Below It Was Also Open,  And,  With The Idea That I Would

Surely Find Someone There,  I Walked On Up The Hall. I Was In Evening

Dress,  And I Felt I Did Not Look Like A Burglar,  So I Had No Great

Fear That,  Should I Encounter One Of The Inmates Of The House,  He

Would Shoot Me On Sight. The Second Door In The Hall Opened Into A

Dining-Room. This Was Also Empty. One Person Had Been Dining At The

Table,  But The Cloth Had Not Been Cleared Away,  And A Flickering

Candle Showed Half-Filled Wineglasses And The Ashes Of Cigarettes.

The Greater Part Of The Room Was In Complete Darkness.

"By This Time I Had Grown Conscious Of The Fact That I Was Wandering

About In A Strange House,  And That,  Apparently,  I Was Alone In It.

The Silence Of The Place Began To Try My Nerves,  And In A Sudden,

Unexplainable Panic I Started For The Open Street. But As I Turned,  I

Saw A Man Sitting On A Bench,  Which The Curve Of The Balustrade Had

Hidden From Me. His Eyes Were Shut,  And He Was Sleeping Soundly.

"The Moment Before I Had Been Bewildered Because I Could See No One,

But At Sight Of This Man I Was Much More Bewildered.

"He Was A Very Large Man,  A Giant In Height,  With Long,  Yellow Hair,