The Continental Classics, Volume XVIII., Mystery Tales: Including Stories by Feodor Mikhailovitch Dostoyevsky, Jörgen Wilhelm; Bergsöe and Bernhard Severin IngemannVarious
General
The Continental Classics, Volume XVIII., Mystery Tales: Including Stories by Feodor Mikhailovitch Dostoyevsky, Jörgen Wilhelm; Bergsöe and Bernhard Severin Ingemann
Various
Detective and mystery stories
"What have you lost?" asked my neighbor Nansen.
"Both arms from the new skeleton I've just recently received from the
hospital," said Sölling with an expression as if his last cent had
been taken from him. "It's vandalism!"
We burst out into loud laughter at this remarkable answer, but Sölling
continued: "Can you imagine it? Both arms are gone, cut off at the
shoulder joint;--and the strangest part of it is that the same thing
has been done to my shabby old skeleton which stands in my bedroom,
There wasn't an arm on either of them."
"That's too bad," I remarked. "For we were just going to study the
_anatomy_ of the arm to-night."
"Osteology," corrected Sölling gravely. "Get out your skeleton, little
Simsen. It isn't as good as mine, but it will do for this
evening."
I went to the corner where my anatomical treasures were hidden behind
a green curtain--"the Museum," was what Sölling called it--but my
astonishment was great when I found my skeleton in its accustomed
place and wearing as usual my student's uniform--but without arms.
"The devil!" cried Sölling. "That was done by the same person who
robbed me; the arms are taken off at the shoulder joint in exactly the
same manner. You did it, Simsen!"
I declared my innocence, very angry at the abuse of my fine skeleton,
while Nansen cried: "Wait a moment, I'll bring in mine. There hasn't
been a soul in my room since this morning, I can swear to that. I'll
be back in an instant."
He hurried into his room, but returned in a few moments greatly
depressed and somewhat ashamed. The skeleton was in its usual place,
but the arms were gone, cut off at the shoulder in exactly the same
manner as mine.
The affair, mysterious in itself, had now come to be a serious matter.
We lost ourselves in suggestions and explanations, none of which
seemed to throw any light on the subject. Finally we sent a messenger
to the other side of the house where, as I happened to know, was a new
skeleton which the young student Ravn had recently received from the
janitor of the hospital.
Ravn had gone out and taken the key with him. The messenger whom we
had sent to the rooms of the Iceland students returned with the
information that one of them had used the only skeleton they possessed
to pummel the other with, and that consequently only the thigh bones
were left unbroken.
What were we to do? We couldn't understand the matter at all. Sölling
scolded and cursed and the company was about to break up when we heard
some one coming noisily upstairs. The door was thrown open and a tall,
thin figure appeared on the threshold--our good friend Niels Daae.
He was a strange chap, this Niels Daae, the true type of a species
seldom found nowadays. He was no longer young, and by reason of a
queer chain of circumstances, as he expressed it, he had been through
nearly all the professions and could produce papers proving that he
had been on the point of passing not one but three examinations.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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