The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 04Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 04
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century; Short stories
For perhaps an hour the hansoms kept arriving with such frequency that
Mr. Morris had to receive a new guest for every old one that he sent
away, and the company preserved its number undiminished. But towards the
end of that time the arrivals grew few and far between, and at length
ceased entirely, while the process of elimination was continued with
unimpaired activity. The drawing-room began to look empty: the baccarat
was discontinued for lack of a banker; more than one person said
good-night of his own accord, and was suffered to depart without
expostulation; and in the meanwhile Mr. Morris redoubled in agreeable
attentions to those who stayed behind. He went from group to group and
from person to person with looks of the readiest sympathy and the most
pertinent and pleasing talk; he was not so much like a host as like a
hostess, and there was a feminine coquetry and condescension in his
manner which charmed the hearts of all.
As the guests grew thinner, Lieutenant Rich strolled for a moment out of
the drawing-room into the hall in quest of fresher air. But he had no
sooner passed the threshold of the ante-chamber than he was brought to a
dead halt by a discovery of the most surprising nature. The flowering
shrubs had disappeared from the staircase; three large furniture-waggons
stood before the garden gate; the servants were busy dismantling the
house upon all sides; and some of them had already donned their
great-coats and were preparing to depart. It was like the end of a
country ball, where everything has been supplied by contract.
Brackenbury had indeed some matter for reflection. First, the guests,
who were no real guests, after all, had been dismissed; and now the
servants, who could hardly be genuine servants, were actively
dispersing.
"Was the whole establishment a sham?" he asked himself. "The mushroom of
a single night which should disappear before morning?"
Watching a favourable opportunity, Brackenbury dashed upstairs to the
higher regions of the house. It was as he had expected. He ran from room
to room, and saw Although the house had been painted and papered, it
was not only uninhabited at present, but plainly had never been
inhabited at all. The young officer remembered with astonishment its
specious, settled, and hospitable air on his arrival. It was only at a
prodigious cost that the imposture could have been carried out upon so
great a scale.
Who, then, was Mr. Morris? What was his intention in thus playing the
householder for a single night in the remote west of London? And why did
he collect his visitors at hazard from the streets?
Brackenbury remembered that he had already delayed too long, and
hastened to join the company. Many had left during his absence; and,
counting the Lieutenant and his host, there were not more than five
persons in the drawing-room--recently so thronged. Mr. Morris greeted
him, as he re-entered the apartment, with a smile, and immediately rose
to his feet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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