The Residuary Legatee; Or, The Posthumous Jest of the Late John Austin — John Shaqi
The Residuary Legatee; Or, The Posthumous Jest of the Late John AustinStimson, Frederic Jesup
General
The Residuary Legatee; Or, The Posthumous Jest of the Late John Austin
Stimson, Frederic Jesup
Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
Shortly afterward Schmidt himself appeared, in his hands a glass and
another bottle of the same claret. By a refinement of delicacy, the
glass was full. “_Monsieur n’a pas fini son dejeúner_,” said he; and
May took the glass with trembling fingers, but put it down untasted.
“Schmidt,” said he, in French, “it is nearly midday. You must bring
everything here. I dare not go back to the house.”
The valet evinced no surprise, but nodded and disappeared. Left to
himself, May opened the shutters of several of the windows and looked
out. The side of the pavilion that was farthest from the house rose
directly out of the broad pond or ornamental lake already referred to.
This was to the west; the northern was screened by a dense growth of
pines, the southern contained the entrance door before mentioned, and
the eastern façade commanded the house, which was some two hundred
yards distant across the avenue. May looked out across the water,
which was an ornamental piece fringed with reeds and water-flowers.
In the centre of the little lake rose a low round island, which had a
comfortable rustic seat and a soft and grassy surface. May pressed a
small knob in the wall near the window, and coming back from it, took a
heavy book from one of the dwarf bookcases that lined the large room.
The book was a quarto edition of Burton’s “Anatomy of Melancholy;” and
immediately afterward the adjoining section of bookcase swung slowly
forward from the wall, revealing a descending passageway. Through this
May disappeared, and the bookcase swung itself back into place.
Some minutes later, Schmidt entered, after several knocks, with a
large japanned tray. Upon this tray was a small paper of bromide
of potassium, two boxes of cigars, strong and mild, a carafe of
cognac, seltzer, a large opera-glass, a powerful dark-lantern, and a
six-barrelled silver-mounted revolver. Fides lay on a mat on the floor;
but his master was nowhere visible in the room. Schmidt set the tray
upon the table and looked about him. Being alone, it must be confessed
that his cosmopolitan face showed traces of surprise.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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