Detective and mystery stories, English; Horror tales, English
"I am sorry," said he, "that Lady Rossiter is not here to help me to
welcome you. By the way, Charles, did Evelyn say anything about the
date of her return?"
"She wished to stay in town for a few more days," said Lord Linchmere.
"You know how ladies' social duties accumulate if they have been for
some time in the country. My sister has many old friends in London at
present."
"Well, she is her own mistress, and I should not wish to alter her
plans, but I shall be glad when I see her again. It is very lonely
here without her company."
"I was afraid that you might find it so, and that was partly why I ran
down. My young friend, Dr. Hamilton, is so much interested in the
subject which you have made your own, that I thought you would not mind
his accompanying me."
"I lead a retired life, Dr. Hamilton, and my aversion to strangers
grows upon me," said our host. "I have sometimes thought that my
nerves are not so good as they were. My travels in search of beetles
in my younger days took me into many malarious and unhealthy places.
But a brother coleopterist like yourself is always a welcome guest, and
I shall be delighted if you will look over my collection, which I think
that I may without exaggeration describe as the best in Europe."
And so no doubt it was. He had a huge, oaken cabinet arranged in
shallow drawers, and here, neatly ticketed and classified, were beetles
from every corner of the earth, black, brown, blue, green, and mottled.
Every now and then as he swept his hand over the lines and lines of
impaled insects he would catch up some rare specimen, and, handling it
with as much delicacy and reverence as if it were a precious relic, he
would hold forth upon its peculiarities and the circumstances under
which it came into his possession. It was evidently an unusual thing
for him to meet with a sympathetic listener, and he talked and talked
until the spring evening had deepened into night, and the gong
announced that it was time to dress for dinner. All the time Lord
Linchmere said nothing, but he stood at his brother-in-law's elbow, and
I caught him continually shooting curious little, questioning glances
into his face. And his own features expressed some strong emotion,
apprehension, sympathy, expectation: I seemed to read them all. I was
sure that Lord Linchmere was fearing something and awaiting something,
but what that something might be I could not imagine.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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