the haunted hotel-第1部分

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THE　HAUNTED　HOTEL



A　Mystery　of　Modern　Venice







by　Wilkie　Collins　





















THE　FIRST　PART























CHAPTER　I











In　the　year　1860；　the　reputation　of　Doctor　Wybrow　as　a　London



physician　reached　its　highest　point。　　It　was　reported　on　good



authority　that　he　was　in　receipt　of　one　of　the　largest　incomes



derived　from　the　practice　of　medicine　in　modern　times。







One　afternoon；　towards　the　close　of　the　London　season；　the　Doctor



had　just　taken　his　luncheon　after　a　specially　hard　morning's　work



in　his　consulting…room；　and　with　a　formidable　list　of　visits



to　patients　at　their　own　houses　to　fill　up　the　rest　of　his　day



when　the　servant　announced　that　a　lady　wished　to　speak　to　him。







'Who　is　she？'　the　Doctor　asked。　　'A　stranger？'







'Yes；　sir。'







'I　see　no　strangers　out　of　consulting…hours。　Tell　her　what　the　hours　are；



and　send　her　away。'







'I　have　told　her；　sir。'







'Well？'







'And　she　won't　go。'







'Won't　go？'　　The　Doctor　smiled　as　he　repeated　the　words。　　He　was



a　humourist　in　his　way；　and　there　was　an　absurd　side　to　the　situation



which　rather　amused　him。　　'Has　this　obstinate　lady　given　you　her　name？'



he　inquired。







'No；　sir。　　She　refused　to　give　any　nameshe　said　she　wouldn't　keep



you　five　minutes；　and　the　matter　was　too　important　to　wait　till



to…morrow。　There　she　is　in　the　consulting…room；　and　how　to　get



her　out　again　is　more　than　I　know。'







Doctor　Wybrow　considered　for　a　moment。　　His　knowledge　of　women



（professionally　speaking）　rested　on　the　ripe　experience　of　more



than　thirty　years；　he　had　met　with　them　in　all　their　varieties



especially　the　variety　which　knows　nothing　of　the　value　of　time；



and　never　hesitates　at　sheltering　itself　behind　the　privileges　of　its　sex。



A　glance　at　his　watch　informed　him　that　he　must　soon　begin　his　rounds



among　the　patients　who　were　waiting　for　him　at　their　own　houses。



He　decided　forthwith　on　taking　the　only　wise　course　that　was　open



under　the　circumstances。　　In　other　words；　he　decided　on　taking



to　flight。







'Is　the　carriage　at　the　door？'　he　asked。







'Yes；　sir。'







'Very　well。　　Open　the　house…door　for　me　without　making　any　noise；



and　leave　the　lady　in　undisturbed　possession　of　the　consulting…room。



When　she　gets　tired　of　waiting；　you　know　what　to　tell　her。



If　she　asks　when　I　am　expected　to　return；　say　that　I　dine　at　my　club；



and　spend　the　evening　at　the　theatre。　　Now　then；　softly；　Thomas！



If　your　shoes　creak；　I　am　a　lost　man。'







He　noiselessly　led　the　way　into　the　hall；　followed　by　the　servant



on　tip…toe。







Did　the　lady　in　the　consulting…room　suspect　him？　or　did　Thomas's



shoes　creak；　and　was　her　sense　of　hearing　unusually　keen？



Whatever　the　explanation　may　be；　the　event　that　actually　happened



was　beyond　all　doubt。　　Exactly　as　Doctor　Wybrow　passed　his



consulting…room；　the　door　openedthe　lady　appeared　on　the　threshold



and　laid　her　hand　on　his　arm。







'I　entreat　you；　sir；　not　to　go　away　without　letting　me　speak



to　you　first。'







The　accent　was　foreign；　the　tone　was　low　and　firm。　　Her　fingers



closed　gently；　and　yet　resolutely；　on　the　Doctor's　arm。







Neither　her　language　nor　her　action　had　the　slightest　effect　in　inclining



him　to　grant　her　request。　　The　influence　that　instantly　stopped　him；



on　the　way　to　his　carriage；　was　the　silent　influence　of　her　face。



The　startling　contrast　between　the　corpse…like　pallor　of　her



complexion　and　the　overpowering　life　and　light；　the　glittering



metallic　brightness　in　her　large　black　eyes；　held　him　literally



spell…bound。　She　was　dressed　in　dark　colours；　with　perfect　taste；



she　was　of　middle　height；　and　（apparently）　of　middle　agesay　a　year



or　two　over　thirty。　　Her　lower　featuresthe　nose；　mouth；　and　chin



possessed　the　fineness　and　delicacy　of　form　which　is　oftener　seen



among　women　of　foreign　races　than　among　women　of　English　birth。



She　was　unquestionably　a　handsome　personwith　the　one　serious



drawback　of　her　ghastly　complexion；　and　with　the　less　noticeable



defect　of　a　total　want　of　tenderness　in　the　expression　of　her　eyes。



Apart　from　his　first　emotion　of　surprise；　the　feeling　she　produced



in　the　Doctor　may　be　described　as　an　overpowering　feeling　of



professional　curiosity。　　The　case　might　prove　to　be　something　entirely



new　in　his　professional　experience。　　'It　looks　like　it；'　he　thought；



'and　it's　worth　waiting　for。'







She　perceived　that　she　she　had　produced　a　strong　impression



of　some　kind　upon　him；　and　dropped　her　hold　on　his　arm。







'You　have　comforted　many　miserable　women　in　your　time；'　she　said。



'Comfort　one　more；　to…day。'







Without　waiting　to　be　answered；　she　led　the　way　back　into　the　room。







The　Doctor　followed　her；　and　closed　the　door。　　He　placed　her



in　the　patients'　chair；　opposite　the　windows。　　Even　in　London



the　sun；　on　that　summer　afternoon；　was　dazzlingly　bright。



The　radiant　light　flowed　in　on　her。　　Her　eyes　met　it　unflinchingly；



with　the　steely　steadiness　of　the　eyes　of　an　eagle。　　The　smooth



pallor　of　her　unwrinkled　skin　looked　more　fearfully　white　than　ever。



For　the　first　time；　for　many　a　long　year　past；　the　Doctor　felt　his　pulse



quicken　its　beat　in　the　presence　of　a　patient。







Having　possessed　herself　of　his　attention；　she　appeared；



strangely　enough；　to　have　nothing　to　say　to　him。　　A　curious　apathy



seemed　to　have　taken　possession　of　this　resolute　woman。　　Forced　to



speak　first；　the　Doctor　merely　inquired；　in　the　conventional　phrase；



what　he　could　do　for　her。







The　sound　of　his　voice　seemed　to　rouse　her。　　Still　looking　straight



at　the　light；　she　said　abruptly：　　'I　have　a　painful　question　to　ask。'







'What　is　it？'







Her　eyes　travelled　slowly　from　the　window　to　the　Doctor's　face。



Without　the　slightest　outward　appearance　of　agitation；　she　put



the　'painful　question'　in　these　extraordinary　words：







'I　want　to　know；　if　you　please；　whether　I　am　in　danger　of　going　mad？'







Some　men　might　have　been　amused；　and　some　might　have　been　alarmed。



Doctor　Wybrow　was　only　conscious　of　a　sense　of　disappointment。



Was　this　the　rare　case　that　he　had　anticipated；　judging　rashly



by　appearances？　　Was　the　new　patient　only　a　hypochondriacal　woman；



whose　malady　was　a　disordered　stomach　and　whose　misfortune　was　a



weak　brain？　　'Why　do　you　come　to　me？'　he　asked　sharply。　　'Why　don't



you　consult　a　doctor　whose　special　employment　is　the　treatment　of



the　insane？'







She　had　her　answer　ready　on　the　instant。







'I　don't　go　to　a　doctor　of　that　sort；'　she　said；　'for　the　very



reason　that　he　is　a　specialist：　　he　has　the　fatal　habit　of　judging



everybody　by　lines　and　rules　of　his　own　laying　down。　　I　come　to　you；



because　my　case　is　outside　of　all　lines　and　rules；　and　because　you　are



famous　in　your　profession　for　the　discovery　of　mysteries　in　disease。



Are　you　satisfied？'







He　was　more　than　satisfiedhis　first　idea　had　been　the　right　idea；



after　all。　　Besides；　she　was　correctly　informed　as　to　his



professional　position。　　The　capacity　which　had　raised　him　to　fame



and　fortune　was　his　capacity　（unrivalled　among　his　brethren）



for　the　discovery　of　remote　disease。







'I　am　at　your　disposal；'　he　answered。　　'Let　me　try　if　I　can　find



out　what　is　the　matter　with　you。'







He　put　his　medical　questions。　　They　were　promptly　and　plainly　answered；



and　they　led　to　no　other　conclusion　than　that　the　strange　lady　was；



mentally　and　physically；　in　excellent　health。　　Not　satisfied



with　questions；　he　carefully　examined　the　great　organs　of　life。



Neither　his　hand　nor　his　stethoscope　could　discover　anything　that



was　amiss。　　With　the　admirable　patience　and　devotion　to　his　art



which　had　distinguished　him　from　the　time　when　he　was　a　student；



he　still　subjected　her　to　one　test　after　another。　　The　result　was



always　the　same。　　Not　only　was　there　no　tendency　to　brain　disease



there　was　not　even　a　perceptible　derangement　of　the　nervous　system。



'I　can　find　nothing　the　matter　with　you；'　he　said。　　'I　can't　even



account　for　the　extraordinary　pallor　of　your　complexion。　　You　completely



puzzle　me。'







'The　pallor　of　my　complexion　is　nothing；'　she　answered　a



little　impatiently。　　'In　my　early　life　I　had　a　narrow　escape　from



death　by　poisoning。　　I　have　never　had　a　complexion　sinceand　my　skin



is　so　delicate；　I　cannot　paint　without　producing　a　hideous　rash。



But　that　is　of　no　importance。　　I　wanted　your　opinion　given　positively。



I　believed　in　you；　and　you　have　disappointed　me。'　　Her　head　dropped



on　her　breast。　　'And　so　it　ends！'　she　said　to　herself　bitterly。







The　Doctor's　sympathies　were　touched。　　Perhaps　it　might　be　more



correct　to　say　that　his　professional　pride　was　a　little　hurt。



'It　may　end　in　the　right　way　yet；'　he　remarked；　'if　you　choose　to



help　me。'







She　looked　up　again　with　flashing　eyes；　'Speak　plainly；'　she　said。



'How　can　I　help　you？'







'Plainly；　madam；　you　come　to　me　as　an　enigma；　and　you　leave　me



to　make　the　right　guess　by　the　unaided　efforts　of　my　art。　　My　art



will　do　much；　but　not　all。　　For　example；　something　must　have　occurred



something　quite　unconnected　with　the　state　of　your　bodily　health



to　frighten　you　about　yourself；　or　you　would　never　have　come　here



to　consult　me。　　Is　that　true？'