The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York LifeGreen, Anna Katharine
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The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life
Green, Anna Katharine
Detective and mystery stories; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
When the next day did come, it rained, rained bitterly, persistent and
with a steady drive from the north east, that made her going out
impossible. The day following she was indisposed, and upon the
succeeding afternoon, she was engaged in duties that precluded all
thought of visiting. The next day was Sunday, and Monday had its own
demands which she could not slight. It was therefore well nigh a week
from the night of the entertainment, before the opportunity offered for
which she was so anxious. Her curiosity and expectation had thus time to
grow, and it was with a determination to allow nothing to stand in her
way, that she set out from home in a flood of mild September sunshine,
to visit Mrs. Hamlin. But alas, for resolutions made in a country
village prior to the opening of a church fair! She had scarcely gone a
dozen steps before she was accosted by one of the managers, a woman who
neither observes your haste, nor pays any attention to your possible
preoccupation. Do what she could, she found it impossible to escape from
this persistent individual until she had satisfied her upon matters
which it took a full half hour to discuss, and when at last she
succeeded in doing so, it was only to fall into the hands of an aged
deacon of the church, whose protecting friendship it were a sin to
wound, while his garrulous tongue made it no ordinary trial of patience
to stand and listen. In short the best part of the afternoon was gone
before she found herself at the door of Mrs. Hamlin’s house. But she was
not to be deterred by further hesitation from the pursuit of her object.
Rapping smartly on the door, she listened. No stir came from within.
Again she rapped and again she listened. No response came to assure her
that her summons had been heard. Surprised at this, for she had been
told Mrs. Hamlin was always at home during the afternoon, she glanced up
at the church clock in plain view from the doorstep, and blushed to
observe that it was six o’clock, the hour at which this mysterious woman
always left her house, to accomplish her vigil at the Japha mansion.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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