Library of the Worlds Best Mystery and Detective Stories | Page 7

to force him to confess his crime
publicly, for I see no means of obtaining a confession, none whatever.
For a moment, I thought of magnetism, but who could magnetize that
man with those pale, cold, bright eyes? With such eyes, he would force
the magnetizer to denounce himself as the culprit."
And then he said, with a deep sigh:
"Ah! Formerly there was something good about justice!"
And when he saw my inquiring looks, he added in a firm and perfectly
convinced voice:
"Formerly, justice had torture at its command."
"Upon my word," I replied, with all an author's unconscious and simple
egotism, "it is quite certain that without the torture, this strange tale will
have no conclusion, and that is very unfortunate, as far as regards the
story I intended to make out of it."

An Uncomfortable Bed
One autumn I went to stay for the hunting season with some friends in
a chateau in Picardy.
My friends were fond of practical joking, as all my friends are. I do not
care to know any other sort of people.
When I arrived, they gave me a princely reception, which at once
aroused distrust in my breast. We had some capital shooting. They
embraced me, they cajoled me, as if they expected to have great fun at
my expense.
I said to myself:
"Look out, old ferret! They have something in preparation for you."

During the dinner, the mirth was excessive, far too great, in fact. I
thought: "Here are people who take a double share of amusement, and
apparently without reason. They must be looking out in their own
minds for some good bit of fun. Assuredly I am to be the victim of the
joke. Attention!"
During the entire evening, everyone laughed in an exaggerated fashion.
I smelled a practical joke in the air, as a dog smells game. But what
was it? I was watchful, restless. I did not let a word or a meaning or a
gesture escape me. Everyone seemed to me an object of suspicion, and
I even looked distrustfully at the faces of the servants.
The hour rang for going to bed, and the whole household came to
escort me to my room. Why? They called to me: "Good night." I
entered the apartment, shut the door, and remained standing, without
moving a single step, holding the wax candle in my hand.
I heard laughter and whispering in the corridor. Without doubt they
were spying on me. I cast a glance around the walls, the furniture, the
ceiling, the hangings, the floor. I saw nothing to justify suspicion. I
heard persons moving about outside my door. I had no doubt they were
looking through the keyhole.
An idea came into my head: "My candle may suddenly go out, and
leave me in darkness."
Then I went across to the mantelpiece, and lighted all the wax candles
that were on it. After that, I cast another glance around me without
discovering anything. I advanced with short steps, carefully examining
the apartment. Nothing. I inspected every article one after the other.
Still nothing. I went over to the window. The shutters, large wooden
shutters, were open. I shut them with great care, and then drew the
curtains, enormous velvet curtains, and I placed a chair in front of them,
so as to have nothing to fear from without.
Then I cautiously sat down. The armchair was solid. I did not venture
to get into the bed. However, time was flying; and I ended by coming
to the conclusion that I was ridiculous. If they were spying on me, as I

supposed, they must, while waiting for the success of the joke they had
been preparing for me, have been laughing enormously at my terror. So
I made up my mind to go to bed. But the bed was particularly
suspicious-looking. I pulled at the curtains. They seemed to be secure.
All the same, there was danger. I was going perhaps to receive a cold
shower-bath from overhead, or perhaps, the moment I stretched myself
out, to find myself sinking under the floor with my mattress. I searched
in my memory for all the practical jokes of which I ever had experience.
And I did not want to be caught. Ah! certainly not! certainly not! Then
I suddenly bethought myself of a precaution which I consider one of
extreme efficacy: I caught hold of the side of the mattress gingerly, and
very slowly drew it toward me. It came away, followed by the sheet
and the rest of the bedclothes. I dragged all these objects into the very
middle of the room, facing the entrance door. I made my bed over again
as best I could at some distance from the suspected bedstead and the
corner