fear I fled from the room. Even in the going I thought it strange that no one made to stop me, and I ran down the hallway as one possessed, fear of the unseen hard upon my heels. In a moment, during which I must have taken the single flight of steps at a bound, I found myself in my own room on the floor above. Familiar things were about me. My traveling-bag, overcoat, clothing, each easily recognized object, seemed a kindly rescuing hand, thrust forth to succor me from the awfulness of what had passed. With a sob I sank upon the bed and consciousness left me.
I awoke with the noon-day light streaming through the window. For a moment, such was the startling clarity with which the events of the preceding night came back to me, I thought it must have all been some hideous dream. I was still fully dressed, but possessed of a physical weariness that vouched in itself for a drain upon my mental energy. Clearly I recalled every step of the evening before: my supper, the business meeting at which I had spoken, its breaking up, the casual conversations that had their part in the adjournment, the handshakes of those who were leaving the city, my own final leavetaking before starting to retire. Each detail stood forth clearly in my mind, and moved with logical sequence to the horrifying things I had by accident witnessed. I even recalled the fear and terror with which I had escaped from the room below. Even now, with the wholesome sunlight streaming into the room, I shuddered with remembrance. I looked at my watch. Stopped! I had not wound it. No, the whole thing had happened. A sudden impulse, overmastering in its forcefulness, impelled me to write of the things I saw.
And so I have written. I have set down all that happened, exactly as it did happen. No fault of memory has permitted the escape of any trifle. All of it is still dear in my brain . . . and I am hungry.
I am back in my room after a hearty luncheon, which I thoroughly enjoyed. The desk clerk eyed me strangely when I asked, off-handedly as I thought, who had occupied the room directly under mine during the night.
"Dr. Menostique and his wife," he said, and added, with a curious look at me, "and his assistant. I think they were in the room until about midnight. They all checked out this morning."
The name, though familiar enough to me as that of the man who had been the leader in the sickening drama of the night, meant nothing else.
"Dr. Menostique?" I asked. "Who, is Dr. Menostique?"
The clerk was obviously bored and seemingly distrustful of my lack of knowledge of one who was apparently a celebrity. He eyed me pityingly.
"Dr. Menostique is the shark's shanks at this hypnotism thing," he said. "Nutty bimbo. Likes to put the spell on strangers and make 'em see snakes, or something. Rotten trick to pull on a man, but the guys that he work on never seem to mind it I understand."
Hypnotized? I do not know. I think I shall never know. It does not seem possible. Everything was too clear, too plainly convincing. The worldly wise clerk passed a final opinion.
"They say what that fellow can make a man see is plain hell. Hope he never picks on me. I'd rather take my chances on waiting."
And I.
The Original Bluebeard
As this extraordinary personage has long been the theme not only of children's early study and terror, and as no afterpiece ever had a greater run than that splendid and popular musician entertainment which bears the name of Bluebeard, the following is the character of that being who really existed and who was distinguished in horror and derision by that appellation.
He was the famous Gilles, Marquis de Savais, a Marshal of France, and a general of uncommon intrepidity, and greatly distinguished himself in the reigns of Charles VI. and VII. by his courage, particularly against the English when they invaded France. He rendered those services to his country which were sufficient to immortalize his name, had he not for ever tarnished his glory by the most horrible and cruel murders, blasphemies and licentiousness of every kind. His revenues were princely, but his prodigality was sufficient to render an emperor a bankrupt. Wherever he went he had in his suite a seraglio, a company of players, a band of musicians, a society of sorcerers, an almost incredible number of cooks, packs of dogs of various kinds, and above 200 led horses.
Mezerai, an author of the highest repute, says that he encouraged and maintained men who called themselves sorcerers, to discover hidden treasures, and corrupted young persons of both sexes co attach themselves to him for the sake of their blood, which was requisite to form his charms and incantations. These horrid excesses may be believed when we reflect on the age of ignorance and barbarity in which they were certainly but too often practiced. He was at length, for a state crime against the Duke of Brittany, sentenced to be burnt alive in a field at Nantes, A. D. 1440, but the Duke of Brittany, who was present at his execution, so far mitigated the sentence, that he was first strangled, then burnt, and his ashes buried. Though he was descended from one of the most illustrious families in France, he declared previous to his death, that all his horrid excesses were owing to his wretched education.
