The Man from Archangel, and Other Tales of Adventure — John Shaqi
The Man from Archangel, and Other Tales of AdventureDoyle, Arthur Conan
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The Man from Archangel, and Other Tales of Adventure
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Adventure stories, English; Physicians -- Fiction
It was not long before I discovered that her suspicions were well
founded, and that this man from Archangel was still lurking in the
vicinity. Being restless one night I rose and peered out of the window.
The weather was somewhat cloudy, and I could barely make out the line of
the sea, and the loom of my boat upon the beach. As I gazed, however,
and my eyes became accustomed to the obscurity, I became aware that
there was some other dark blur upon the sands, and that in front of my
very door, where certainly there had been nothing of the sort the
preceding night. As I stood at my diamond-paned lattice, still peering
and peeping to make out what this might be, a great bank of clouds
rolled slowly away from the face of the moon, and a flood of cold, clear
light was poured down upon the silent bay and the long sweep of its
desolate shores. Then I saw what this was which haunted my doorstep. It
was he, the Russian. He squatted there like a gigantic toad, with his
legs doubled under him in strange Mongolian fashion, and his eyes fixed
apparently upon the window of the room in which the young girl and the
housekeeper slept. The light fell upon his upturned face, and I saw once
more the hawk-like grace of his countenance, with the single
deeply-indented line of care upon his brow, and the protruding beard
which marks the passionate nature. My first impulse was to shoot him as
a trespasser, but, as I gazed, my resentment changed into pity and
contempt "Poor fool," I said to myself, "is it then possible that you,
whom I have seen looking open-eyed at present death, should have your
whole thoughts and ambitions centred upon this wretched slip of a
girl--a girl, too, who flies from you and hates you? Most women would
love you--were it but for that dark face and great handsome body of
yours--and yet you must needs hanker after the one in a thousand who
will have no traffic with you." As I returned to my bed I chuckled much
to myself over this thought. I knew that my bars were strong and my
bolts thick. It mattered little to me whether this strange man spent his
night at my door or a hundred leagues off, so long as he was gone by the
morning. As I expected, when I rose and went out, there was no sign of
him, nor had he left any trace of his midnight vigil.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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