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began to grow dim； it was like the entrance of death。〃
〃Yes； yes； very strange certainly。 You see； your friend confesses that
there is some very black story connected with this woman。 Did you
notice any particular emotion in him when you were telling your tale？〃
〃Yes； I did。 He became very faint； but he assured me that it was a
mere passing attack to which he was subject。〃
〃Did you believe him？〃
〃I did at the time； but I don't now。 He heard what I had to say with a
good deal of indifference； till I showed him the portrait。 It was then that
he was seized with the attack of which I spoke。 He looked ghastly； I
assure you。〃
〃Then he must have seen the woman before。 But there might be
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another explanation； it might have been the name； and not the face； which
was familiar to him。 What do you think？〃
〃I couldn't say。 To the best of my belief it was after turning the
portrait in his hands that he nearly dropped from the chair。 The name；
you know； was written on the back。〃
〃Quite so。 After all； it is impossible to come to any resolution in a
case like this。 I hate melodrama； and nothing strikes me as more
commonplace and tedious than the ordinary ghost story of commerce； but
really； Villiers； it looks as if there were something very queer at the bottom
of all this。〃
The two men had； without noticing it； turned up Ashley Street； leading
northward from Piccadilly。 It was a long street； and rather a gloomy one；
but here and there a brighter taste had illuminated the dark houses with
flowers； and gay curtains； and a cheerful paint on the doors。 Villiers
glanced up as Austin stopped speaking； and looked at one of these houses；
geraniums； red and white； drooped from every sill； and daffodil…coloured
curtains were draped back from each window。
〃It looks cheerful； doesn't it？〃 he said。
〃Yes； and the inside is still more cheery。 One of the pleasantest
houses of the season； so I have heard。 I haven't been there myself； but
I've met several men who have； and they tell me it's uncommonly jovial。〃
〃Whose house is it？〃
〃A Mrs。 Beaumont's。〃
〃And who is she？〃
〃I couldn't tell you。 I have heard she comes from South America； but
after all； who she is is of little consequence。 She is a very wealthy
woman； there's no doubt of that； and some of the best people have taken
her up。 I hear she has some wonderful claret； really marvellous wine；
which must have cost a fabulous sum。 Lord Argentine was telling me
about it； he was there last Sunday evening。 He assures me he has never
tasted such a wine； and Argentine； as you know； is an expert。 By the way；
that reminds me； she must be an oddish sort of woman； this Mrs。
Beaumont。 Argentine asked her how old the wine was； and what do you
think she said？ 'About a thousand years； I believe。' Lord Argentine
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thought she was chaffing him； you know； but when he laughed she said
she was speaking quite seriously and offered to show him the jar。 Of
course； he couldn't say anything more after that； but it seems rather
antiquated for a beverage； doesn't it？ Why； here we are at my rooms。
Come in； won't you？〃
〃Thanks； I think I will。 I haven't seen the curiosity…shop for a while。〃
It was a room furnished richly； yet oddly； where every jar and
bookcase and table； and every rug and jar and ornament seemed to be a
thing apart； preserving each its own individuality。
〃Anything fresh lately？〃 said Villiers after a while。
〃No； I think not； you saw those queer jugs； didn't you？ I thought so。 I
don't think I have come across anything for the last few weeks。〃
Austin glanced around the room from cupboard to cupboard； from
shelf to shelf； in search of some new oddity。 His eyes fell at last on an odd
chest； pleasantly and quaintly carved； which stood in a dark corner of the
room。
〃Ah；〃 he said； 〃I was forgetting； I have got something to show you。〃
Austin unlocked the chest； drew out a thick quarto volume； laid it on the
table； and resumed the cigar he had put down。
〃Did you know Arthur Meyrick the painter； Villiers？〃
〃A little； I met him two or three times at the house of a friend of mine。
What has become of him？ I haven't heard his name mentioned for some
time。〃
〃He's dead。〃
〃You don't say so！ Quite young； wasn't he？〃
〃Yes； only thirty when he died。〃
〃What did he die of？〃
〃I don't know。 He was an intimate friend of mine； and a thoroughly
good fellow。 He used to come here and talk to me for hours； and he was
one of the best talkers I have met。 He could even talk about painting； and
that's more than can be said of most painters。 About eighteen months ago
he was feeling rather overworked； and partly at my suggestion he went off
on a sort of roving expedition； with no very definite end or aim about it。
I believe New York was to be his first port； but I never heard from him。
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Three months ago I got this book； with a very civil letter from an English
doctor practising at Buenos Ayres； stating that he had attended the late Mr。
Meyrick during his illness； and that the deceased had expressed an earnest
wish that the enclosed packet should be sent to me after his death。 That
was all。〃
〃And haven't you written for further particulars？〃
〃I have been thinking of doing so。 You would advise me to write to
the doctor？〃
〃Certainly。 And what about the book？〃
〃It was sealed up when I got it。 I don't think the doctor had seen it。〃
〃It is something very rare？ Meyrick was a collector； perhaps？〃
〃No； I think not； hardly a collector。 Now； what do you think of these
Ainu jugs？〃
〃They are peculiar； but I like them。 But aren't you going to show me
poor Meyrick's legacy？〃
〃Yes； yes； to be sure。 The fact is； it's rather a peculiar sort of thing；
and I haven't shown it to any one。 I wouldn't say anything about it if I
were you。 There it is。〃
Villiers took the book； and opened it at haphazard。
〃It isn't a printed volume； then？〃 he said。
〃No。 It is a collection of drawings in black and white by my poor
friend Meyrick。〃
Villiers turned to the first page； it was blank； the second bore a brief
inscription； which he read：
Silet per diem universus； nec sine horrore secretus est； lucet nocturnis
ignibus； chorus Aegipanum undique personatur： audiuntur et cantus
tibiarum； et tinnitus cymbalorum per oram maritimam。
On the third page was a design which made Villiers start and look up
at Austin； he was gazing abstractedly out of the window。 Villiers turned
page after page； absorbed； in spite of himself； in the frightful Walpurgis
Night of evil； strange monstrous evil； that the dead artist had set forth in
hard black and white。 The figures of Fauns and Satyrs and Aegipans
danced before his eyes； the darkness of the thicket； the dance on the
mountain…top； the scenes by lonely shores； in green vineyards； by rocks
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and desert places； passed before him： a world before which the human
soul seemed to shrink back and shudder。 Villiers whirled over the
remaining pages； he had seen enough； but the picture on the last leaf
caught his eye； as he almost closed the book。
〃Austin！〃
〃Well； what is it？〃
〃Do you know who that is？〃
It was a woman's face； alone on the white page。
〃Know who it is？ No； of course not。〃
〃I do。〃