appealed to a grey-headed gentleman, a guest at the breakfast-table
of an English traveller, to take the lead in the investigation.
'This is Doctor Bruno, our first
physician in Venice,' he explained.
'I
appeal to him to say if there are any un
healthy influences in
Mr. Westwick's room.'
Introduced to Number Fourteen, the doctor looked round him with a certain
appearance of interest which was noticed by
everyone present. 'The last
time I was in this room,' he said, 'was on a
melancholy occasion.
It was before the palace was changed into an hotel. I was in
professional attendance on an English
nobleman who died here.'
One of the persons present inquired the name of the
nobleman.
Doctor Bruno answered (without the slightest
suspicion that he was
speaking before a brother of the dead man), 'Lord Montbarry.'
Henry quietly left the room, without
saying a word to anybody.
He was not, in any sense of the term, a
superstitious man. But he felt,
nevertheless, an insurmountable
reluctance to remaining in the hotel.
He
decided on leaving Venice. To ask for another room would be,
as he could
plainly see, an offence in the eyes of the
manager.
To remove to another hotel, would be to
openlyabandon an
establishment in the success of which he had a pecuniary interest.
Leaving a note for Arthur Barville, on his
arrival in Venice,
in which he merely mentioned that he had gone to look at the
Italian lakes, and that a line addressed to his hotel at Milan
would bring him back again, he took the afternoon train to Padua--
and dined with his usual
appetite, and slept as well as ever
that night.
The next day, a gentleman and his wife (perfect strangers
to the Montbarry family), returning to England by way of Venice,
arrived at the hotel and occupied Number Fourteen.
Still mindful of the slur that had been cast on one of his
best bedchambers, the
manager took occasion to ask the travellers
the next morning how they liked their room. They left him to judge
for himself how well they were satisfied, by remaining a day longer
in Venice than they had
originally planned to do,
solely for
the purpose of enjoying the excellent
accommodation offered to them
by the new hotel. 'We have met with nothing like it in Italy,'
they said; 'you may rely on our recommending you to all our friends.'
On the day when Number Fourteen was again
vacant, an English lady
travelling alone with her maid arrived at the hotel, saw the room,
and at once engaged it.
The lady was Mrs. Norbury. She had left Francis Westwick at Milan,
occupied in negotiating for the appearance at his theatre of
the new
dancer at the Scala. Not having heard to the contrary,
Mrs. Norbury
supposed that Arthur Barville and his wife had already
arrived at Venice. She was more interested in meeting the young
married couple than in awaiting the result of the hard bargaining
which delayed the
engagement of the new
dancer; and she volunteered
to make her brother's apologies, if his
theatrical business caused
him to be late in keeping his appointment at the
honeymoon festival.
Mrs. Norbury's experience of Number Fourteen differed entirely
from her brother Henry's experience of the room.
Failing asleep as
readily as usual, her
repose was disturbed
by a
succession of
frightful dreams; the central figure in every
one of them being the figure of her dead brother, the first
Lord Montbarry. She saw him starving in a
loathsome prison;
she saw him pursued by assassins, and dying under their knives;
she saw him drowning in immeasurable depths of dark water; she saw him
in a bed on fire, burning to death in the flames; she saw him tempted
by a
shadowy creature to drink, and dying of the
poisonous draught.
The reiterated
horror of these dreams had such an effect on her that she
rose with the dawn of day, afraid to trust herself again in bed.
In the old times, she had been noted in the family as the one
member of it who lived on
affectionate terms with Montbarry.
His other sister and his brothers were
constantly quarrelling with him.
Even his mother owned that her
eldest son was of all her children