Mysterious Mr. SabinOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
General
Mysterious Mr. Sabin
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Detective and mystery stories; Fiction
"It had come to her knowledge that you and I were together in
London--that you were once more essaying to play a part in civilised and
great affairs. And lest our meeting should bring harm about, she told
me--something of which I have always been in ignorance."
"Ah!"
Mr. Sabin moved uneasily in his seat. He drew his club-foot a little
further back; Felix seemed to be looking at it absently.
"She showed me," he continued, "a little pistol; she explained to me
that a woman's aim is a most uncertain thing. Besides, you were some
distance away, and your spring aside helped you. Then, too, so far as I
could see from the mechanism of the thing--it was an old and clumsy
affair--it carried low. At any rate the shot, which was doubtless meant
for your heart, found a haven in your foot. From her lips I learned for
the first time that she, the sweetest and most timid of her sex, had
dared to become her own avenger. Life is a sad enough thing, and
pleasure is rare, yet I tasted pleasure of the keenest and subtlest kind
when she told me that story. I feel even now some slight return of it
when I look at your--shall we call deformity, and consider how different
a person----"
Mr. Sabin half rose to his feet; his face was white and set, save where
a single spot of colour was flaring high up near his cheek-bone. His
eyes were bloodshot; for a moment he seemed about to strike the other
man. Felix broke off in his sentence, and watched him warily.
"Come," he said, "it is not like you to lose control of yourself in that
manner. It is a simple matter. You wronged a woman, and she avenged
herself magnificently. As for me, I can see that my interference was
quite uncalled for; I even venture to offer you my apologies for the
fright I must have given you at the 'Milan.' The account had already
been straightened by abler hands. I can assure you that I am no longer
your enemy. In fact, when I look at you"--his eyes seemed to fall almost
to the ground--"when I look at you, I permit myself some slight
sensation of pity for your unfortunate affliction. But it was
magnificent! Shall we change the subject now?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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