 1. A traveling companion. When the train left Liverpool Street, he and I were the only occupants of the compartment. I was in one corner, he was directly opposite me in the other. He appeared to have purchased the same evening papers which I had purchased. I noticed too a certain similarity in his movements to mine. When I lowered my paper, he lowered his. When I turned the page, he turned one also. This coincidence of action I supposed at first was accidental. But I perceived along that if it was accidental, the accident was of a peculiar kind. Whatever I did, he did. When I exchanged one journal for another, he exchanged one also. I noticed in disrespect that the invitation was so close that when I relinquished the poem out for the St. James's, he relinquished the poem out for the St. James's. When I put my paper down and looked at him, he put his paper down and looked at me. I asked myself if this person intended to insult me. What conceivable reason could he have when turning a railway carriage with an apparently deliberate intention of insulting an inoffensive stranger? Unless he was drunk or mad. Directly I began to observe him. I was struck by the fact that he resembles someone whom I had seen before. Who it was I couldn't for a instant recollect. I hired him while he hired me. And everything to recall to my mind who was the owner of his features. I believe that I have had the pleasure of meeting you before. When I addressed to him this commonplace, which so frequently is addressed to individuals whose personality one fades to recollect, to my surprise it replied to me in exactly the same words which I had used. I believe that I have had the pleasure of meeting you before. The tones of his voice were familiar to me. I had not only heard them before, but I had heard them recently. You were laughing at me because I cannot recollect your face. And it is proverbial among my friends that I have an excellent memory for faces. Scorsely at a finish speaking, then he cured me. He repeated after me word for word what I had said. The man must be your mouth back. And yet the longer I looked at him, the better I seemed to know his face. Who was the fellow? May I venture to ask your name? The only reply which I received to my inquiry was my inquiry cured. The man must be some clowning spirit who in revenge borrows for my bad memory proposed to amuse himself a little at my expense. When you are pleased to be more communicative, I will endeavor to apologize for my imperfect recollection. When you are pleased to be more communicative, I will endeavor to apologize, came the echo from the opposite corner. I confess that I was conscious of a certain feeling of irritation. The mildest of man does not care to be mocked. And I am not prepared to say that I am the mildest of man. Still I didn't propose to have in a railway carriage any unpleasantness with a man, who after all might be a perfect stranger to me. So I gathered my papers and wraps together and would you to the other end of the carriers. Scorsely at a dance so when the man who had been in front of me did likewise. He gathered his papers and his wraps. He came and planted himself in front of me at this end as he had done at that. There could be no doubt that the action was intended to be impotinent. The thing was done too deliberately to admit of any other supposition. Still I was not prepared to serve a sentiment. I didn't see how I could do so, that is with any regard to my own dignity. I could scarcely have a vulgar squabble with a fellow then and there. The boat ring does not stop between London and Harwich. We are compulsory companions while the journey lasted, unless I threw him out of the carriage window or he threw me. It better to endure his insolence, unless it become aggressive until we reached our destination. I became tired of reading. I put down my paper. The man in front of me in pursuance of his opponent policy of fateful imitation simultaneously put down his. He returned a look with which I favoured him. But to that I was indifferent. I continued intently to study his countenance asking myself when and where before meeting in that carriage, I had encountered him before. He looked a gentleman. I was prepared to admit that he was a gentleman. He had about him that indefinable something which had the trained observer inevitably associates with his idea of a gentleman. He was probably between 30 and 40 years of age. He was good looking with a long, shallow oval face which was innocent of most eyes and whiskers and a very curious mouth and chin. I think it was the peculiarity of that mouth and chin which impressed one with a consciousness that he might not be an agreeable man to quarrel with. There was something about the formation of the lower part of his face which was suggestive, though only to my imagination for the use of cool, calculating, unfinching cruelty. I say that this might have been a suggestion of my imagination. But his eyes conveyed not merely a suggestion but an absolute certainty. They were the most beautiful eyes which I had ever seen. They were large and black, chat black and deep, so deep that it seemed impossible to penetrate their depths. The pupils had a curious trick of dilatation like a cat. They were large at first and seemed to gleam with light. As you observe them, they grew perceptibly smaller until a point remained, a point of light. No man could look at that man's eyes and doubt that he was as well as the grave. The unfinching way in which he made my gaze had a curious effect upon my nerves. Do I am far from being a nervous man? The more I continued to observe him, the more persuaded I became that we had met before, not once but constantly. So firmly were his features impressed upon some misled tablet of my memory. Yet, try how I would, I could neither remember who I had seen him nor who he was. This was the more extraordinary because he was possessed of so distinct an individuality that one was disposed to say that one need only set eyes upon him once, never to forget him. I could restrain my curiosity no longer. I leaned forward and regarding him fixedly, I said. Don't I know you? He leaned forward and regarding me fixedly, he replied. Don't I know you? It was but an echo. The man possessed it in his mockery, and he had the tones of his voice with what a strange familiarity they seemed to ring in my ears, and at the same time how degraded on my nerves, how to feel the humidity sense of irritation. He had advanced his face to within even few inches of my own. In the irritation of the moment I was more than half disposed to strike him, the palm of my hand itched to salute his ears. I believed that I should have struck him had I not all at once become conscious of the look which was in his eyes. The people's grue and grue untill they cleared at me like a wild-paste than like a man. I drew back in my sin, stifling an exclamation. There could be no doubt whatever that mother was in the man's eyes that he was mad. I lost him when he reached Harwich. I went at once to the Antwerp boat. The night was glorious. I remained on deck while the boat was being cast from the moorings. After sea was out in the river, after sea was out in the sea. I had no desire for a cabin. I did not trouble myself even to secure a boat. I had no desire for slumber. I of course was conscious that in my peculiar circumstances, sleep was effected not to be neglected. With a proper amount of sleep, a man's nervous system is bound to suffer, and when his nervous system suffers, the man suffers altogether. He loses perfect control of his mental faculties. To keep perfect control of my mental faculties was to one in my position, literally a question of life or death. It is, I firmly believe, only when a man loses perfect control of his mental faculties that the police call what they call their successes. Therefore, to me, a proper amount of sleep was indispensable. But at the same time, I was aware of what was the exact amount I did require, and I knew that I wanted none just then. I was in no mood for slumber. I was in a mood to enjoy the perfect night, the fresh breeches, and the smell of the sea. And I was in a mood after a while to think of Alan Foster. I wondered if he was still lying where I left him with his face to the ceiling. I am quite willing to admit that I felt a certain satisfaction in picturing him to my mind's eye exactly as I left him. I felt a certain pleasure in painting as we vide a picture as my imagination would allow me of the room in which I left him. A picture of the little details of the room, his chair and mine, the shaded lamp upon the table, the look upon his face, when in that last swift moment he understood that I meant business. The inanimate touch with which he had banged on the floor. I wondered if he had made much mass, whether I ought to picture him with or without the chance of a crimson pool. If I had possessed the secrets of the musicians, I would have traveled back for an instant just to see. I had frequently speculated as to what would be the sensations of a man in my position. I do not know that there was anything remarkable about my own. I should say in no extraordinary sense that my sensations were those of satisfaction. When I had had enough of thinking of my last meetings with Alan Foster, my thoughts recurred to the fellow in the train. As I leaned over the side of the steamer, I teased my brain with an effort to recollect where I had seen him. Again and again I had almost hit up on his trail, when it again escaped me. I couldn't think who the man might be. I wondered if he was in the boat, bound with his four antwerp, or whether he was joining in the boat to Rotterdam. Thus wondering, I stood up and turning to the smoke room, which was just behind me, saw him at my side. I earned that I was duttled. I had supposed that I was the only person up on deck. He certainly had not been there a moment back. I had had no one approach, yet there he was, leaning as I was leaning, with one hand up on the side of the vessel. His eyes fixed intently up on mine. For some moments we continued to see him, for some moments we continued in silence to observe each other. As we did so, I was conscious that his glance began to fill me with a species of vague discomfort. If I may say so, with a sort of horror. It was absurd to suppose that I should allow him to continue to amuse himself at my expense, I spoke to him. May I ask, sir, if you have any intention of dosing my steps? He said nothing, he continued to look at me, and the more he looked at me, the less I liked the look of him. It is not a fact, sir, that you and I have met before? It is. The voice in which he uttered the two little monosyllables was such a familiar voice. A voice which was so well known to me, that the mere fact of its exiting familiarity filled me, although it may appear exaggeration on my part to say so, with a vague sense of pain. See only the sound of that voice has been ringing in my ears for years. May I ask, sir, where we have met before? He was silent, less and less did I like the expression, which was in his beautiful eyes. May I ask, sir, what is your name? I have no connection with the police. It is true that the peculiarity of his demeanor, the intendance of his gaze, the sense of discomfort with which I was conscious that his presence began to fill me, had led me inwardly to inquire if the fellow could be in any way connected with the police. But I had not formulated the inquiry in words. How come he then too replied to my unspoken query? Could he be connected with the hounds of Scotland yearned? The suspicion of such a possibility filled me with a sudden passion, with one of those ugly rages for which among my friends I believe I am well known. I moved towards him, bent on me chief. As I moved towards him, he moved towards me. His eyes were fixed on mine. I protested that of no man living have, I have ever been afraid. And of no man dead, of things of flesh, not of things of air. I have never hesitated even for instant to do anything because I was afraid, witnessed my career. I protested that until that moment, I believed myself to be incapable of the thing called fear. But when, in that moment, I met his eyes and saw him well, and in the moonlight clearly, I was afraid. I slunk away and stole into the smoke room and left him there. When I entered the smoke room, still tingling with the consciousness of having played the coward, I found it in the position of three persons, two were upon one seat, and had arranged themselves in such a position that each was able to stretch out his feet on the seat in front of him. Both were asleep. The other seat was occupied by a single individual. He also was asleep. He lay stretched out at full length upon the seat in such a manner that at his feet there was only left space enough to enable me to crowd myself in the corner. This vacant space I occupied. As I sat there, in that cramped position, my feelings towards that loser was individual were not of the friendliest kind. He was evidently in the enjoyment of perfect comfort. He was actually snoring, while he had left me scarcely room enough to breathe. I was telling myself that it would serve him well right if I were to pull his nose with suffix and vigor to rouse him out of his state of self, his two-port to a consciousness of the recurrence of the situation when the door opened and the man came in from home I had slunk away. He paid no attention to me whatever. He stood looking down at the snoring sleeper. As he looked the expression of his countenance was simply diabolical. It's certainly when me, as I said, looking on. Lower and lower, towards the sleeper, he bent his cruel, handsome face. Suddenly putting out his hand, he grasped his sleeper's nose and rung it with such severous ferocity that I have expected to see the nose torn right off the victim's face. No man could continue wrapped in slumber whose nose had been handled in such fashion as that man's nose was handled then. The snorer not only seeds to snore, but he sprang to his feet and emitted a eel which must have been audible throughout the ship. The little apartment was in confusion where all of us upon our feet. The sufferer fondled his nose as well he might. The adjectives which proceeded from his lips my pain is unable to record. Who did it he yelled? Who did it? He glared at each of us in turn, as if disposed in the forced paroxysms of his pain to regard us all there as guilty parties. He is actually as silent and vanished like a coward through the door. I was just about to point this out when, to my amazement, the man who had been sleeping just in front of me charged me with that salt. I repelled the charge with all the indignation with which, on the impulse of the moment, I was capable. The man declared that he had seen me do that deed. Why, I cried, only the laws to conceive what could have induced him even to immerse in such a thing. You were asleep. I was bitten sleeping and walking. He replied, I saw a looking at the gentleman. I saw your lean over him and I saw you pull his nose. If I had not shown the sufferer pretty clearly that discretion upon his part would be the better part of valor, I believed that he would have attacked me dear and then. I declared upon my honor not only that my cues are light, but that I was incapable of the conduct with which he charged me. I explained whose was the guilt. The man came in and looked at you and pulled your nose. Before, so completely was I taken by surprise, at what seemed to me to be so unprovoked and outraged, I could stop him. He was gone again. Who went out to look for the miscreant? We sawed for him in all directions, but he was not on deck. No signs of him were to be seen. We also watched if he had noticed anybody moving. He declared that he had noticed me, but that with the exception of myself, no one had been on the deck for the last hour or more. It is certain that the sailor was deceived, as he might very easily be in that uncertain light, but the gentleman whose nose had suffered looked at me, as though if he only dared, he would. I know not if the story got about, and if the general verdict was that I was the guilty party, but it certainly seemed to me throughout the rest of the journey that the whole of the passengers gave me plenty of valor room. Not a soul could I get to exchange award with me during our passage up the Sheld. Whoever I spoke to immediately found that something required his presence in another portion of the ship. More than once, before we arrived at Antwerp, I was on the point of showing my resentment. But until we drew up at the quay, I never caught a vatic glimpse of the Ruffian for whose outrageous conduct it seemed I was temporarily safari. I entered the train for Brussels. It seemed until just as the train was starting, that I was to have the compartment to myself. When the signal had been actually given, and the train was already in motion, the door at the opposite end of the carriage opened, and a man came in who had run the unconscious sleeper's nose half off his face. With the calmest air in the world, he came down the carriage and placed himself on the seat in front of me. This was a little more than I could stand. As you have come, sir, you must excuse me if I get out. I put my hand through the window to unfasten the door, but the engine had got upstream. We were clear of the station. To have attempted to align, would have been to infringe the bylaws of the railway company. I said I found myself in the hands of the authorities. There was nothing for it, but to make the best of the situation, and to treat my unwelcome companion with all the philosophy at my command. I put my legs up on the seat. I prepared to take my ease. My companion did exactly as I did. He put his legs up on the seat, and he prepared to take his ease. But I was not to be moved by such a trifle as that. If it was his humor to play the mountain bank, his humor caused no sort of inconvenience to me. As the train moved through the flat country which lies between the Antwerp and the Malines and beyond, I, for my part, was wrapped in thought, and the silence was disturbed by my common opinion. It's not bad fun, this running away from the police. The fellow's words were so exactly interpreted the thoughts which had been passing through my brain that I could not help but let him see that I was startled. I moved my legs from off the seat, and turned and faced him. Still bent on imitation, he turned himself towards me. The fellow filled me with such a sense of curious repentance that I was at a loss for words with which to address him. He, however, seemed to be completely at his ease. He began lazily to remove his gloves. Having removed them, he held out towards me his hands. I noticed what wide slender artist hands they were. Look at them. They are wide enough. They are without a stain, and yet they have died in blood. He spoke in the tone of voice, so it seemed to be so intensely familiar. They died with the blood of a friend, of the best friend man ever had. I killed him, my best friend. He leaned back in his seat. There was a smile about his lips, so it seemed to me to be the incarnation of all quality. I killed him because I hated him, and a little I think because he loved me so. He had always trusted me, and I had always played him false, and the more I played him false, the more he trusted me. For that, I hated him. I robbed him of his moneys, and he pretended that the things which I had stolen had been his gifts to me. For that, I hated him the more. So having robbed him of great things all his life, I robbed him out of pure pastime of a little thing. I robbed him of his wife, this fool they loved his wife. He loved her, I do believe, better than his soul. So when he learned what I had done, just for the sport of it, he dared to show resentment, for which I killed him, dear and then. I killed him when his heart was hot with rays against his well-tried friend. That was yesterday at six. I let him there, just where he fell up on the floor. I went round to my rooms. I slept a few things in my dressing bag. I caught the boat train at Liverpool Street. I am en route for Brussels, and after that I know not where. The fellow laughed softly to himself. It was the most dreadful sound I had ever heard. Was he man or was he devil? That he could read the innermost secrets of my heart, only to make a gist of them like that. It was not his own tell he had told. It was mine. I had slain my friend only a couple of hours before I had met this fellow in the Harwich train. Already, I didn't doubt that avengers of blood fled to themselves that they were up on my heels. How come this man to know what was hidden from all the world but me? I knew not what to say to him. What was there to be said? Unless I took him by the throat and crushed a life from him. I would have done it had I dare. But for the second time in my life, my courage failed me. I didn't dare. There was something about this man which I knew so well, it frightened me. I wrecked my tortured brain with the unanswered and it seemed unanswerable question. Where had I seen this man before? Not another word was spoken up on either side until we reached Brussels. As the train drew into the station, I rose and said, Well, is it your intention to accompany me father? He struck the soldiers and he smiled. I went out and I left him sitting there. But all the time as the cab drove through the busy streets to the hotel, I felt as though that man were sitting in the cab there at my side. 2. The Haunted Man After dinner, by way of a little relaxation, I went to a certain cafe where there are women who sing. I do not pretend that the place was a place of particularly good repair or that the entertainment which it offered was in any sense worth listening to. As a matter of fact, the performance was incredibly bad and abominably dull. Indeed, the place was a vulgar and backward place and therefore excellently suited to the humor I was in, for I was in a blackout frame of mind. I said drinking the Poznanox concoction which they call absinthe e alanisthe, while one of the chantuses a hideous fat omen hovered above me and asked for drink. On the table next to mine, there were some papers. I drew them towards me. Among them was the London paper of that day's date. It was uncut. I had travelled quicker than I had, having probably reached Brussels by the Austin Rule, opening it my eyes searched down the columns. Delighted on a paragraph which was hated, dreadful tragedy in Saggles Street. I read the paragraph. It was a narrative of the date of Alan Foster's murder. It seemed that they must have discovered the body only a few minutes after I left the house. Alan's man had gone to the room and knocked and having received no answer had tried to handle and found that the door was locked. He waited some minutes and returned and as he still received no answer to his knocking, fearing that Alan knows ill inside the room, he sent for assistance and had the door forced open. Bradway had been in the service of Alan's father. He had done that Alan himself almost since he was a child. I pictured the old man's face as he saw his master lying dead, murdered on the floor. It seemed that the body had made a mess. The newspaper said that the corpse was discovered lying in a great pool of blood. I could not altogether understand how that could be. I was positive that I had spitted the heart with one blow, given that Alan's own stiletto, a long slender weapon, scarcely broader than a bodkin. It seemed hardly probable that much blood would flow from such a wound as that. The paragraph concluded by stating that the police were on the track of the assassin and that a warrant had been issued at Scotland Yard. So, we shall see. When I had finished reading this instructive item of current news, a giant news came around, a skull of shell in her hand soliciting subscriptions to compensate her in some measure for the vocal agony which she had been recently enduring. As I glanced up to drop some soos into her cell, my eyes changed upon a man who was seated at the table right in front of me. But on the opposite side of the room, he was the man on the train. He too was reading a journal, just as I had been doing, and apparently he was an English journal too. As I looked at him, he looked at me, and raising the paper pointed to a particular paragraph it contained, indulging in that soft, devilish laughter of his, which seemed to fill my very soul with horror as I heard. The sensation with which I regarded this man and heard his horrid laughter and felt his eyes upon her face filled me with a feeling of the profoundest physical repulsion. My God! I cried unconsciously aloud. Who is this man? The chant you still lingered in front of me, since suppose that my question was addressed to her. Which man? That man sitting at the table there? What do you? Is it not Monsey Scorsican brother? The woman's words struck a chord which had been vibrating in my memory, yet which had escaped my keenest search. No wonder I suppose that I had seen this fellow's face before. It was so like my own, and as the sudden revelation of fact that this was so flash upon my mind, such a sense of horror came rushing, whirling over me, that I staggered like a drunk man. The woman must have thought that I was mad, because so soon as I had recovered surface and self-control, I rushed out of the place and into the busy street beyond. I tore along the vulva do not, like a tingus, such as my haste, that I came into unwitting contact with someone who was advancing in the contrary direction to my own. It was a little child, a little girl. She had been the force of the collision that I had flung her back upon the stones. I picked her up, I took her in my arms, I soothed her tears. She was a little thing, thin and pale and poorly clad. I made her distress my own. I pressed some silver coins into her hand, and begged her to forgive my unintentional transgression. The sight of the silver coins seemed to have more effect even than my warts in the drying of her tears. She looked at them, and through the tumult of a griff they had already dawned their smile. I was just about to make my peace and leave her, happy in the position of our anewfound wealth, when a man came striding across the street at the rate of a good six miles an hour. It was the man whom that gentius had suggested was my Corsican brother. He caught the child from off the ground. He struck her with his hand. He kicked her with his foot. He tossed her out into the gutter. It was the cruelest thing. And then as the lay crying where she had fallen, he turned to me and pointed to her and, laughing, disappeared into the crowd. Leaving me standing where he had come on me, revered it to the ground. The child's cries attracted the attention of the passengers by. They advanced to her assistance. I advanced to the rest. But to my amazement, the ungrateful creature cried out the moor at the sight of me and strung back as though I were a plague. What is the matter with you, little one? Inquired the bystanders. He bit me. He kicked me. He threw me out into the road. The little child stretched out her hand towards me as though I had been guilty of these things. The wickedness of a searchy search met by one whom I had so recently befriended for the moment took my breath away. But instead of treating the child's wanton accusation with the incribility which I naturally expected, the bystanders turned on me with black looks and lowering brows. To treat a little child like that, they said. Mace hears that madame. I exclaimed. So far from treating a child like that, I would not injure a single hair upon her hair. This little child is laboring under some extraordinary delusion. It is not I who did this thing. The miscreant was guilty of this wanton quilt he vanished as quickly as he came. He was a stranger, ladies and gentlemen, to me. But rather than this little child to suffer even at a stranger's hands, I will present her with a napalier with which to dry her tears. It is not money which you will pay for conduct such as that. The people crowded round me. There were some of them whose feasts were clenched. The looks with which they regarded me were anything but looks of love. ominous mamas were in the air. It would have knitted but little to have induced them to lay on me hands of violence. It was with the greatest difficulty that I appeased their anger. It cost me five napalias to dry the sufferers tears. Such incidents such that, if repeated, were likely to prove expensive to speak of nothing else. It was with feelings of the strongest resentment towards the scoundrel who hung up on my footsteps that I pursued my way towards my holder. More than once I suspected that he was at my side, or just behind me. Once I distinctly heard his footsteps giving pace with mine. I turned. He was peering over my shoulder, actually pushing his face against mine. Well, he saddens mine. In my sudden justifiable fury, I struck at him. He nearly moved aside so that he escaped my blow, laughing at loads of laughs of ease. Before I could pursue him, he vanished in the crowd. It was certain, if I was to continue to undo the inflection of this fellow's presence, that my health would suffer. And chiefly on my health rested my chances of safety. If it failed me, it was not impossible that I might fall in the toils of those banglers at Scotland the Earth. They would then say, You say that we never make a capture. See what a capture we have made now. When all the time it was not their wit which had prevailed, but it was that the find who hung upon my heels were played into their hands. I resolved to go straight to bed. When I reached the hotel, I noticed that a man from whom I demanded a key of my apartment seemed to look at me in askance. I am tired, I explained. I have been travelling all night, I am going to get some sleep. It is that which I require, sleep. The man said nothing, but it seemed to me that he was extremely careful to keep himself at arm's length of me. What was there about my personal appearance which should make this fellow and see us not to come in contact with my person, or which should cause him to stay at me like that? As I ascended the staircase, I met a young man who was coming down, servant of the hotel. Or some such thing as that. See I had a smile upon her face, but when she got side of me and her eyes made mine, the smile vanished. I never before saw so sudden and so singular a change come over a woman's face. She strank away from me sideways against the wall, as though she was afraid that I would strike her. My child, I said, What does the matter with you? You stare at me as though I were a ghost. She didn't answer me, and she ran down the stairs with the swiftness of the wind. What should induce the woman to behave like that? If there was anything curious about my face, it was going to the want of sleep. It was only sleep which I required, nothing more. At last I cried when I entered my apartment, at last I am alone, free from all that noisy crowd in the enjoyment of my own company. Now for slumber, for letting closing of my eyes in sleep. As I moved across the room, I remember that I had omitted to lock the door. It would never do to overlock that ceremony. Or that ilumined wretch in his majorless importance might even venture to invade the precincts of my bedroom. I turned to supply the omission. And in the very act of turning perceived that the man had been before me. I was too late. The filler had taken instantaneous advantage of my slight forgetfulness, and already had forced himself upon my privacy. He stood only a step or two in front of me. With a look upon his face, such as surely he is only to be seen upon the faces of the friends in hell. It was a look which I had not seen before. It was instinct with some dreadful meaning. The pupils of his eyes were distanted to a monstrous size. They claimed as if with fire. But I was not to be frightened by his straightening looks at a moment such as that. I had come there to seek that peace which seemed to have eluded me since yesterday night. And if I could not have peace, I would at least have privacy. I would not have any solitude polluted by the presence of that thing of evil. He should go out. He should go out. Even though in the struggle there was murder done, and he murdered me as I had murdered Alan Foster in his room the night before. With my blood coursing through my veins as if it were a stream of liquid fire, I advanced upon that messenger from hell. As I advanced on him, he advanced on me. I stretched out my arms to take him by the throne. He copied my actions in all the details. I gave a spring to grasp at him, the wildest bastion burning in my heart, and struck against a mirror. I struck against a mirror. Oh my God! The thing of evil which I taught to grasp was but the image of myself mirrored in a glass. That creature on whose countenance was pictured all the patience of all the veins was my own image mirrored in a glass. That human animal whose eyes glimped cruelty and shouted murder was my own image mirrored in a glass. The dreadful being who had been my almost constant companion since the moment in which I had struck the devil's blow and who had read the innermost secrets of my heart and whose instantaneous wickedness had so filled my soul with loading had been all the time but the image of myself mirrored in a glass. I could not believe that the thing could be. I could not believe that the messenger from hell was formed in my own likeness, but it was so. There could be no doubt about it. The thing was as plain as day. A meter ran from floor to ceiling. I stood close up to it. There staring at me in the silvered glass, a smiling find was myself. In the dreadful moment when I first realized what manner of man indeed I was, my legs trembled beneath me, and I would have sunk upon my knees to plead for mercy from my God, only that I lacked the courage. It was not me whose hands ran blood to speak with God. And yet it would have been better that I had dared, for as I stood there, striving to obtain the courage which should enable me to shape my lips in the utterance of a prayer, there came a touch upon my soldier. And turning I beheld at my side the man in the train. He pointed to the meter, and he smiled, as he always seemed to smile. Yet there was smile. You see, we make a pair. I am you, and you are me. How strange you should not have known me when first we made. How strange you should not have known your own voice when first you heard it, he going in the train. I knew it now. I knew my own voice as it proceeded from his lips. Then I understood how it was that his exceeding familiarity had seemed to fill me with such a sense of bitter pain. I had been sent in order that you may be able to see just what sort of man you are. I am the power which has been given you to enable you to see yourself as others see you. I will be with you to the end, a mirror ever ready to your hand. He stopped, and he who's butting my ear, and he smiles. And he smiled, a devil's smile. You know, it was murder. There was nothing gallant in the deed. It was the act of a coward and a car. See, it was like this. He took me by the arm, and he turned me round. And I saw a table, on which there was a shaded lamp. And at this table there sat a man, and his face was that of a true man. And the light in his eyes were pure and good. And I knew that it was Alan. And this fellow went and sat on a chair, which was on the other side of the table. And he looked at Alan. And as the lamp light fell upon his features, I noticed what a difference there was between his looks and Alan's. They both were handsome men, but Alan was a fair-haired, blue-eyed, open-faced, English gentleman. The others was the cleverer face, but there was something in it, notably the expression of the mountain of the eyes, which repelled. Something which told me, as I stood watching there, that the hard-witted man was evil. And Alan said, How well I knew his full clear voice. And as he spoke, there was a cloud upon his sunny face. Jack, I hope you won't mind my saying what I am going to say, but I was bound to ask you here, so that we might have it out between us. I was bound, old man. The man up on the other side of the table smiled. My dear Alan, pray you don't have all of the eyes. Jack, Alan rose. He began pacing to and fro. He seemed to have to that to say which he found it difficult to utter. Jack, you remember when Doris left me. How my heart was broken, you were quite sure, Jack. I only ask it as a matter of form, old man, because of course I know that no man ever had a better friend than you have been to me. You were quite sure, Jack, that you knew nothing of a way? The other was a moment or two before he answered. And during that moment or two he smiled. There was lying on the table a long, glittering slander blade, which Alan had brought home with him from India, and which it had been his habit to use as a paper knife. The blade was so slander, the temper of the steel was so true, and the handle was so heavy that one had but to hold it, point downwards five or six feet from the ground and drop it, for it to bury itself almost to the hilt in the wood. The man on the other side of the table draw this odd paper knife of Alan's to him. He began to play with it. As he did so, his smile became a very peculiar one indeed. My dear Alan, don't you think it is unnecessary for two such old friends as you and I to pay any attention to mere matters of form? Besides, it is nearly two years since Doris left you. Some man who had forgotten such a wife in a week. I thought she was forgotten long ago. Forgotten? You thought that I had forgotten Doris, Jack? Forgotten her, my darling? I shall never forget Doris while I have life. If she were to come back to me this moment, or if she comes back to me in ten years time, I will take her to my arms again. If she only come, and I will forgive her everything. But you have heard me say that sort of thing over and over again. Just answer my question, Jack. You are quite sure that you knew nothing of her going? My dear Alan, don't you think that it is rather late in the day to ask me such a question as that? Of course I know it's late in the day, and of course I know that the whole thing is an absurdity. But the fact is, old man, some man, some man have been saying. Alan paused as if you were at a loss for words. The man on the other side of the table continued to smile and to trifle with the paper knife. Well, some man have been saying, what? Some man have been saying that you knew more about her going than you pretended. There is a truth for you, old man. There is a slight pause. When the man on the other side of the table spoke, there was something so peculiar in his tone of voice that even blundering, slow that Alan must have noticed it. My dear Alan, it would be just as well that you and I should have a clear and perfect understanding once for all. It will have to come one day, and why not now? I wish you clearly understand that I am as sick of hearing Doris' name as I am sick of Doris. Jack. Alan. What do you mean? I say that I am as sick of hearing Doris' name as I am sick of Doris. That is what I say, and that is what I mean. You are sick of Doris? Do you know where she is? I know very well indeed where she is. Jack, where is she? She is in a house for which I pay the rent, but thank goodness with your money and not with mine. It is only right, my dear Alan, that you should pay house rent for your own wife. Jack, say that you lie. My dear Alan, I shall not say that I lie because I don't. It seemed that Alan could only guess. Doris ran away with me, you fool. She never cared for you, a pinch of snuff from the beginning. When I acted as your best man, and she stood by your side at the altar, I knew that it was for me, say, kid. It was the whole story of Iliath Ozo Akhyem. All of the keep egg meh. Always Alan, when you had married her, I thought I would take her from you. So I took her away from you. So I took her. It was the easiest thing. The joke of it was that you never suspected it was I. You made of me your confident in state, and what a blind fool you have always been, dear boy. But the thing has got beyond the joke. Doris has become a nuisance. I never cared for her. As I said, I am as sick of hearing Doris' name as I am sick of Doris. There was a pause. Alan said nothing, but with the cry of an undead lion, he rushed upon the man who sat at the other side of the table. The man waited for his spring. Just as Alan was upon him, he rose, holding the glittering weapon with which he had been playing above him in the air. He drove it to the hilltine to Alan's breast. Oh, that utterance of a sound, Alan banged backwards onto the floor. I saw him lying there, and I knew that he was dead. My dearest friend. He whose chief crime had been that he loved not wisely, but too well. The wretch who had done this deed of darkness turned towards me and said with her bowed his lips and his eyes that David smiled. You see, it was like that you did it. I covered my face with my hands, and tried to hide from my eyes that red full sigh. And when again I removed my hands, the table with the shaded lamp had vanished, and the dead man up on the floor, and there was nothing there, but that wretch who regarded me with his unceasing smile. And as I looked at him and he at me, the door of that apartment opened, and three men came in. One of them had advanced to the wretch standing in the center of the room. He laid his hand up on his shoulder, and he said in cold, stern tones, John Alton, you are my prisoner. I arrest you for willful murder. There was a flash of something in the air. I knew that a pair of handcuffs had been produced. The wretch had remained quiescent for a moment, as if still be fired by an unexpected blow. But when he saw the clearing fighters, he leapt up on the officer, and in an instant he bore him to the ground. The others ran to the assistance of their fallen comrade, or they would have been another mother done, and I should have seen a second corpse lying on the floor before my eyes. The guilty wretch, in his wild frenzy, bit and scratched and tore and kicked and fought, and screamed and yelled, like the thing which indeed he was, a find from hell. Strangers steamed into the apartment. The room was filled with people, and it omits the one man against a tree. They fought like devils, hayer, dare, and everywhere. But at last they mastered him, the tree against a one, and in that same instant the scoundrel vanished. And I lay there, up on the floor, torn and scratched and bruised and bleeding, which I have suffered my wrists. And they dared to say to as I who had struggled, delight, why should I have struggled? Was it because I was afraid of them? Does it look as though I were afraid of them? Now that I am writing this, every word of which they tell me will be used against me. What do I care? What they use against me? I repeated once more in black and white, it was I killed Alan Foster, I, and it is my complete conviction that under the same circumstances, I should kill the fool again. The so-called terrors of the law have no terrors for me. They are quite welcome to take me to any place of execution, they may please, and they are to hang me by the neck, till I am dead. And of, to be used against him. By Joseph Addison This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bill Borst The Vision of Mirza By Joseph Addison When I was at Grand Cairo, I picked up several Oriental manuscripts, which I have still by me. Among others I met with one entitled The Visions of Mirza, which I have read over with great pleasure. I intend to give it to the public when I have no other entertainment for them, and shall begin with the first vision, which I have translated word for word as follows. On the fifth day of the moon, which according to the custom of my forefathers I always keep holy, after having washed myself and offered up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hills of Baghdad in order to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation on the vanity of human life. And passing from one thought to another, surely, said I, man is but a shadow and life a dream. Baustai was thus musing. I cast my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was not far from me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, with a little musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him, he applied it to his lips and began to play upon it. The sound of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious, and altogether different from anything I had ever heard. They put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to the departed souls of good men upon their first arrival in paradise, to wear out the impressions of their last agonies, and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. My heart melted away in secret raptures. I had been often told that the rock before me was the haunt of a genius, and that several had been entertained with music who had passed by it, but never heard that the musician had before made himself visible. When he had raised my thoughts by those transporting airs which he played, to taste the pleasures of his conversation, as I looked upon him like one astonished, he beckoned to me, and by the waving of his hand directed me to approach the place where he sat. I drew near with that reverence, which is due to a superior nature, and as my heart was entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at his feet and wept. The genius smiled upon me with a look of compassion and affability that familiarized him to my imagination, and it once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions with which I approached him. He lifted me from the ground, and taking me by the hand, Merza, he said, I have heard thee and thy soliloquies. Follow me. He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and placed me on the top of it. Cast thy eyes eastward, said he, and tell me what thou seeest. I see, said I, a huge valley, and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it. The valley that thou seeest, said he, is the veil of misery, and the tide of water that thou seeest is part of the great tide of eternity. What is the reason, said I, that the tide I see rises out of a thick mist at one end and again loses itself in a thick mist at the other? What thou seeest, said he, is that portion of eternity which is called time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from the beginning of the world to its consummation. Examine now, said he, this sea that is bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou discoverest in it. I see a bridge, said I, standing in the midst of the tide. The bridge thou seeest, said he, is human life, considerate attentively. Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it consisted of three score and ten entire arches, with several broken arches, which added to those that were entire, made up the number about a hundred. As I was counting the arches, the genius told me that this bridge consisted at first of a thousand arches, but that a great flood swept away the rest and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld it. But tell me further, said he, what thou discoverest on it. I see multitudes of people passing over it, said I, and a black cloud hanging on each end of it. As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the passengers dropping through the bridge into the great tide that flowed underneath it. And upon further examination, perceived there were innumerable trap doors that lay concealed in the bridge, which the passengers no sooner trod upon, but they fell through them into the tide and immediately disappeared. These hidden pitfalls were set very thick at the entrance to the bridge, so that the throngs of people no sooner broke through the cloud, but many of them fell into them. They grew thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer together towards the end of the arches that were entire. There were indeed some persons, but their number was very small, continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken arches, but fell through one after another being quite tired and spent after so a walk. I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonderful structure and the great variety of objects which it presented. My heart was filled with a deep melancholy to see several dropping unexpectedly in the midst of mirth and jollity and catching at everything that stood by them to save themselves. Some were looking up towards the heavens in a thoughtful posture and in the midst of a speculation stumbled and fell out of sight. Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of bubbles that glittered in their eyes and danced before them, but often when they thought themselves within the reach of them their footing failed and down they sunk. In this confusion of objects I observed some with scimitars in their hands who ran to and fro upon the bridge thrusting several persons on trap doors which did not seem to lie in their way and which they might have escaped had they not been thus forced upon them. The genius seeing me indulge myself in this melancholy prospect told me I had dwelt long enough upon it. Take thine eyes off the bridge, said he, and tell me if thou yet seeest anything thou dost not comprehend. Upon looking up, what means, said I, those great flights of birds that are perpetually hovering about the bridge and settling upon it from time to time? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, and among many other feathered creatures several little winged boys that perch in great numbers upon the middle arches. These, said the genius, are envy, avarice, superstition, despair, love, with the light cares and passions that infest human life. I here fetched a deep sigh. Alas, said I, man was made in vain. How is he given away to misery and mortality, tortured in life, and swallowed up in death? The genius, being moved with compassion towards me, bid me quit so uncomfortable a prospect. Look no more, said he, on man in the first stage of his existence, in his setting out for eternity. But cast thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears the several generations of mortals that fall into it. I directed my sight as I was ordered, and, while there were no of the good genius strength in it with any supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate, I saw the valley opening at the farther end, and spreading forth into an immense ocean that had a huge rock of adamant running through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal parts. The clouds still rested on one half of it, in so much that I could discover nothing in it. But the other appeared to me a vast ocean planted with innumerable islands that were covered with fruits and flowers, and interwoven with a thousand shining seas that ran among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious habits with garlands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying down by the sides of fountains, or resting on beds of flowers, and could hear a confused harmony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and musical instruments. Gladness grew in the depths of the sea, upon the discovery of so delightful a scene, I wished for the wings of an eagle that I might fly away to those happy seats. But the genius told me there was no passage to them, except through the gates of death that I saw opening every moment upon the bridge. The islands, said he, that lie so fresh and green before thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more in number than the sands on the seashore. There are myriads of islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching farther than thine eye, or even thine imagination can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, who, according to the degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed among these several islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are settled in them. Every island is a paradise accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, oh Mirza, habitations worth contending for? Does life appear miserable, that gives the opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not man was made in vain, who has such an eternity reserved for him. I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on these happy islands. At length said I, Show me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of adamant. The genius making me no answer, I turned about to address myself to him a second time. But I found that he had left me. I then turned to again the vision which I had been so long contemplating. But instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long hollow valley of Baghdad, with oxen, sheep, camels grazing upon the sides of it. End of the vision of Mirza, recording by Bill Borscht. To Weird Valid by Anonymous This is a liberal rocks recording. All liberal rocks recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit livrewox.org. Recording by Ohm123 To Weird Valid by Anonymous To Great Polis Validness, the airs were strolling aimlessly throughout the town on a sunny but cold afternoon in November of a sudden year. He was to play at night at one of the great concerts which meant the town so musically famous and according to his usual custom, he was observing passage by, looking in shop windows and thinking of anything rather than the approaching audio. Not that he was nervous, for none could be less so, but he came to his work all the fresher for an hour or two of either forgetfulness and astonished his audiences the more. Turning out of the busiest street, he embellished into a comparatively quieter affair and trying out an inch of cigarette produced a new Havana, letting off with every sign of enjoyment. Now it was part of his rule when out on these refreshing excursions to avoid music solves and he had already passed out of the zone without doing more than barely recognizing them. It is therefore very remarkable that working by Lowes Music Warehouse in this quieter affair, he should suddenly stop and after remaining in doubt for a few moments, go straight to the window and look in. He hadn't seen anything when he first passed and indeed he had merely asserted out of the corner of his eye that one of the forbidden shops was near. Why then did he feel impelled to return? Down there was talked as all such windows are with instruments, music and such apportunances as resin, bows, chin rests, mousse, strings, bridges and pegs. And all guineries, valued at several hundred guineas, lay alongside a shilling set of bones and a flagellate. All ocarina and several motor guns were gracefully cropped, opening jilt as a copy of Alisa. Amongst the carefully arranged violins was a curious old instrument like of which the virtuoso had never seen before and at this he now stared with all his eyes. It was an ugly squad violin of every pattern and ansiote appearance. The maker, whoever had been had displayed considerable eccentricity throughout its manufacture but especially in the scroll which went to some freak he had carved into the semblance of a hideous grinning face. There was something horribly repulsive about the strange work of art and yet it also possessed a subtle fascination. The violinist giving his eyes up on the face would seem to follow his movements would find his persistency slowly etched to the door and entered the shop. The addon then came forward and recognized the world-renowned performer Baudelaire. This is a curious looking fiddle in the window began the artist at once with a wave of his hand in the direction of the find. Which one sir, inquired the addon? Oh the one with the remarkable scroll you mean I'll get it for you. Drawing aside a little cotton he dived into the window way and produced the instrument whose face seemed to be grinning more maliciously than ever. A fair don sir added the map but nothing to surrear you I'm sure. As soon as her eyes touched the neck of the violin he gripped it conversively and raised the instrument to his chin. Then for a few moments he stood form as a rock his eyes fixed upon the Austrian attendant evidently would not sing him. A bow said the magician had lined in a low voice. He stretched out his disengaged hand and took it without moving his eyes. Then he stopped for strings with his long fingers and drew the horse here smartly over them with one rapid sweep producing a rich chord in a minor key. A slight sliver passed over his frame as the notes were struck and the look of concentration of his face changed to one of horror. But it didn't cease. Slowly dripping his gauge the performer met the keeping glance of the scroll fist and though his own countenance plunged and his lips tightened as if to suppress a cry the bow was raised again and the violin spoke. Did the demon whisper to those moving novice fingers? It almost seemed to be doing so and surely such a melody as came from an instrument was born of no human mind. It was slow and measured but no solenity was suggested. It trailed the frame but the terror not a delight. It was a chain of sounds which like a Sigmund's first infancy slipped out of the memory as soon as it was evolved and was incapable of being recalled. Slowly when the last strains were lost and the great violinist dropped both arms to his side and stood for a few moments grasping violin and bow without speaking. There were drops of perspiration on his forehead and he was pale and weary looking. When he spoke it was in a faint voice and he seemed to address himself to something invisible. I cannot undo it now he said. I'll play again tonight. Do you wish to play on the instrument at this evening's concert sir? Inquired the dealer not to do some astonishment at the choice much as the performance had affected him. Yes, yes of course was the reply given in some irritability. The speaker having apparently bruised himself from his semi-stupor. As the dealer took back the fiddle he chanced to turn him back up for most. It was a curiously marked piece of wood a black batch spreading over a large portion and throwing on ugly blood upon the other was exquisite baffling. Seeing comes the artist pointing a shaking figure at this blotch and clutching at the subkeeper's shoulder. Blah! Good grace is ejaculated to the other shrinking back in alarm. Are we ill sir? Blah! Blah! Repeated the half demented musician and he staggered out of the shop. It was night and the concert room was crowded to excess. The performers upon the platform were accustomed as their way to such sides could not but gaze with interest at the restless sea of eager expectant faces which stretched before them. That indescribable noise a multitude of subdued mamas accompanied by the discordant scrapping of strings and blowing a wreath was at its height. Now and then a loud trombone out momentarily assert itself. Or an oboose plentative notes which rise above the tumult and in short the moment of intense excitement which immediately precedes the entrance of the conductor was at hand. Suddenly the long continual confusion seized and for an incalculably short space of time silence rined. Then a storm of defending applause burst forth. Nakes were grained and eyes trained in vain attempts to catch an early glimpse of the great violinist who was to upon the concert by playing a difficult concerto of spore. It is noticed that as the virtues of all of the gray had conducted to the center of the platform he was unusually pale and those who were seated at no great distance from the orchestra observed also that he carried a curious violin instead of the steady various upon which he was one to forth home. A tap on the conductor's desk a short breathless silence and a sweet strains of the opening bars ensued from instruments of a hundred avoued musicians. The soloist with his sinking at heart which he could scarcely come for raised the violin to his shadow and saw for the first time that it had been restrained. As invariably left stringing and tuning to others this would appear to have been a matter of no moment and yet it had a strange effect upon him. Again that shot a burst through his body and again he unable to limit the glance of those diabolical eyes upon the scroll. Horror of horrors was to face alive or was he going mad? The band which has swelled out to a loud forte now dropped the pianism. The moment had arrived her rest raised his bow and commenced to lovely others eve. What has come to him? Where were the concert roomed orchestra the ants is crowd of people. What sounds were these? This was not sport. The sweet melody so likened so unlike the weird music which he had played in the dealer's shop. What subtle magic had so acted upon those strains that their horror the cruel mockery had entirely vanished and sweet pure harmony alone remained. It seemed to the player that he stood in a small but comfortably furnished room. Two figures were in the room those of a beautifully young girl and a dark handsome foreign looking man. There was something in the face of the letter which vividly recalled a face upon the scroll. And strange to say a counterpart of the violin set rested under the man's chin. The girl was seated at the harpy squad and as she played her companion accompanied her upon a strange instrument. From the casting of vote the dreamer concluded that they were phantoms of a hundred years ago. Honest time the man was singing a low voice as he passed his bow over the strings. Tell me tonight that you have not dismissed me for ever. I can't wait for your love. And his useless reply the girl oh it is quite useless. Why you appeared to me father I could never love you even if I were not already promised to another. The service light gleamed in the man's eye and more than ever he looked like the face on the violin but it did not immediately reply and the music went on. You tell me this useless is sad at length and I tell you that it is useless. Useless for you to think of him do you hear he continued luring his violin and leaning towards her. You shall never marry him I swear it by my soul. The girls rang from him and the music ceased. Though he didn't know it the dreaming violinist had reached the conclusion of the Adizio movement. He didn't hear the defending plaudits so it's greeted the fall of his bow. He knew nothing of the enthusiasm of the orchestra or the praise of the conductor he heard no more music. Look what is this. The girl has sat at the hustle of the couch and a lover his violin stealing his left hand is kneeling at her feet passionately blurring out the listen. She exposed to leads for a while then repasses him and rises. A malignant fire darts from a furious war in her eyes something bright gleams in his hand. He rushes forward raises his arm to strike. The Presto movement had commenced and an extraordinary circumstance soon made itself apparent to the audience. The violinist was running away with the band. Greatly to the horror of the conductor the tempo had to be increased until a prestissimo was reached. Still the Whopperman was not satisfied. They sinned no limit to his powers tonight. His fingers literally flew up and down the fingerboard. His bow shot to and fro with incredible swiftness and he had the music grow quicker quicker until the unhappy conductor who had difficulty foot along the tiling band felt that a fire score was inevitable. On armrests of fingers and a bow fast and fast as steel a few of the bandsmen fell off from sheer exhaustion and stayed horror-stricken and a mad violinist. Some of the listeners rose in alarm and many were only detained by extreme anxiety from bursting into loud and frantic applause. Suddenly with the loud snap of a string the spell was broken. The orchestra unable now to proceed stopped in utter confusion and the loud sigh of relief suspense went up from thousands of throats. Then the whole mass rose in sudden horror as the violinist dropped his instrument to crash upon the platform stared wildly around, clasped a hand to his side and a strange cry fell to the ground insensible. For weeks the great violinist lived between life and death the nature reasserted herself and he recovered. But it was long, very long air he could again appear in public. Was the weird and mysterious violin never again sent forth its strange and mysterious influence. It had been hopelessly shattered in that last night of its performance which had when I proved fatal to the world-famed player and of the weird violin by anonymous.