Idonia: A Romance of Old LondonWallis, Arthur Frederick
History
Idonia: A Romance of Old London
Wallis, Arthur Frederick
Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
In that place I stayed a good hour, there being a merry company come
together of players and other (for which I was indeed glad, and it
cheered me more than all else), when the day beginning to fail, the
guests departed their several ways, and I also, upon my own.
"The watch will certainly have been notified by this time," I said to
myself, "for 'tis impossible that a dead body should lie so long in the
streets unperceived. Well, my uncle will have got hence scot-free, as
he is accustomed to do in despite of all justice, and of writs of
attachment, or of black Malpas either; which saveth my conscience a
toll, and so I hope there's an end of my dealings with him."
Nevertheless I could not refrain from going part way down the hill
again, to see whether the body were indeed removed. And so it was, as
I had looked that it should be; though it occasioned me some surprise
to note that the door of the house now stood wide, while a little
within the threshold two other Chinese hung wailing and wringing their
hands in the most abject misery.
Excited at this opportunity to learn the cause of the outrage I had
been so close a witness to, I went over to the men, and accosting them,
demanded whether the dead man were their friend; but to my question
they replied by never a word, at least not in English, but continued to
lament as before. I then made signs that I knew all that had befallen,
and at that they ceased, and soon nodded, making eager signs that I
should tell them more; whereupon I drew forth the knife from my bosom
and handed it to the man I stood closest to, who received it with an
exclamation of fury, passing it to the other with the one significant
word--_Skene_! The other Chinese now came forward, and in the intense
hatred that twisted his yellow face, I read the recompense that should
be meted out to the murderer if ever they two should meet. "Skene," he
repeated twice or thrice, tapping his long fingers upon the blade; and
then with a gesture, pointing inward to the house, whispered,
"Here--house;" by which I understood that this was a favourite
lurking-place of my uncle's, who no doubt hoped, upon any domiciliary
inquisition, to divert the vigilance of the officers by making parade
of these uncouth strangers as alone inhabiting there; or in the last
event, perhaps, intended to disguise himself in their clothing, and so
steal off. I could not but admire the ingenuity of the man, for all my
disgust of his countless villainies.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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