Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1896-10-31
THE
PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY.
THE
BY OSCAH WILpk

How quickly H. had ali been done! HI
felt strangely calm, and walked over TO thu
window, opened it and stepped out on The
balcony. The wind had blown the fog away
and the sky was like q monstrous peacock
tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes
He looked down and saw the policeman 70
Ing his rounds and flashing a bull's-eyt
lantern on the doors Of the silent houses
The crimson spot Of "a prowling hanson
cleaned at the corner, and then vanished
A woman in ragged shawl was creepinl
round by tho ratings, staggering as sh,
went. Now and then she stopped, and
peered back. Once she began 10 sing in a
hosrse voice. The policeman strolled over
and said something TO her. She stumbled
away, laughing. A bitter blast swept across
the square. The gas-lamps fickered. and
became blue, and the leafess trees shook
their black iron branches as if in pain. He
shivered. and went back, closing the win
dow behind him.
: He passed 10 the door, turned the key,
and opened it. He did not even glance at
the murdered man. He felt that tho secret
OF the whole thing was not to realize the
situation. The friend who had painted the
fatal portrait, the portrait To which all his
misery had been due, had gone out Of his
life. That was enough.
hen he remembered the lamp. II was a
rather curious one of Moorish workmanship,
made Of dull silver inlaid with arabesques
of FURNISHED steel. Perhaps 1t might be
missed by his servant, and questions would
be asked. He turned back and took il from
the table. How still the man was! How
horribly white the long hands looked! He
was like a dreadful wax image.
He locked the door behind him, and crept
quietly downstairs. The woodwork creaked
and seemed 10 cry out as il in pain. He
stopped several times, and waited. No;
everything was still. ii was merely the
sound Of his own footsteps.
When he reached the library, he saw the
bag and coat in the corner. They must be
hidden away somewhere. He unlocked a
secret press that was in the wainscoting,
and put them into it. He could easily burn
them afterward. Then he pulled out his
watch. II was twenty minutes to two.
He sat down, and began TO think. Every
year-every month, almost-men were
~strangled in England for what he had done.
There had been a madness of murder in the
air. Some red star had come too close 10
the earth.
Evidence! What evidence was there
against him. Basil Hallward had left the
house at eleven. No one had seen him come
in again. Most of the servants were at
Selby Royal. His valet had gone TO bed.
Paris! Yes. 1t was 10 Paris that Basil
had gone, by the midnight train. as he had
intended. With his curious reserved habits,
it would be months before any suspicious
would be aroused. Months. Everything
could be destroyed long before then.
A sudden thought struck him. He put
on his fur coat and hat, and went out into
the hall. There he paused, hearing the
slow, heavy tread of the policeman outside
OH the pavement, and seeing the flash Of
the lantern reflected in the window. He
waited, holding his breath.
After a few moments he opened the front
door, and slipped out, shutting it very gently
behind him. Then he began ringing the
bell. In about ten minutes his valet APP
peared, half dressed, and looking very
drowsy.
Il am sorry 10 have had to wake you W,
Francis, " he said, stepping in; "but / had
forgotten my l~atch-key. What time is it,"
Five minutes past two, sir" answered
the man, looking at the clock and yawning.
Five minutes past woi How horribly
late! You must wake M az miro tomorrow.
! nave some work TO do"
"All right, sir"
'Did any one call this evening""
'Mlr. Hallward, sir. He stayed here till
eleven, and then he went away to catch his
train.n
leave any messagel"
''No. sir, except that he would write to
you"
THAT will do, Francis. Don't forget to
call me at nine tomorrow"
mo, sir"
The man shambled down the passage in
his slippers.
Dorian Gray threw his hat and coat upon
the yellow marble table, and passed into the
library. He walked up and down the room
for a quarter Of an hour, biting his lip, and
thinking. Then he took the Blue Book
down from one Of the shelves, and began to
turn over the leaves. Allan Campbell, 152
HEREFORD Street, Mayfair" Yes; that was
the mar he wanted