Not
a second was to be lost. I passed through the door, which was only
closed, and moved as rapidly as I could, consistently with stillness,
along the lobby. Before I had gone many yards, I heard the door
through which I had just passed roughly locked on the inside. I glided
down the stairs in terror, lest, at every corner, I should meet the
murderer or one of his accomplices. I reached the hall, and listened,
for a moment, to ascertain whether all was silent around. No sound was
audible; the parlour windows opened on the park, and through one
of them I might, I thought, easily effect my escape. Accordingly, I
hastily entered; but, to my consternation, a candle was burning in the
room, and by its light I saw a figure seated at the dinner-table, upon
which lay glasses, bottles, and the other accompaniments of a drinking
party. Two or three chairs were placed about the table, irregularly,
as if hastily abandoned by their occupants. A single glance satisfied
me that the figure was that of my French attendant. She was fast
asleep, having, probably, drank deeply. There was something malignant
and ghastly in the calmness of this bad woman's features, dimly
illuminated as they were by the flickering blaze of the candle. A
knife lay upon the table, and the terrible thought struck me--"Should
I kill this sleeping accomplice in the guilt of the murderer, and thus
secure my retreat?" Nothing could be easier; it was but to draw the
blade across her throat, the work of a second.
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