classic mystery and detective stories-第50节

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the　lofty　scorn　of　all　deceit；　the　entire　absence　of　mean　curiosity

in　the　sex；　or　never；　never　would　you　libel　us　so！〃　　Ah；　Delia！

dear；　dear　Delia！　　It　is　because　I　fancy　I　DO　know　something　about

you　（not　all；　mindno；　no；　no　man　knows　that）。Ah；　my　bride；　my

ringdove；　my　rose；　my　poppetchoose；　in　fact；　whatever　name　you

likebulbul　of　my　grove；　fountain　of　my　desert；　sunshine　of　my

darkling　life；　and　joy　of　my　dungeoned　existence；　it　is　because　I

DO　know　a　little　about　you　that　I　conclude　to　say　nothing　of　that

private　closet；　and　keep　my　key　in　my　pocket。　　You　take　away　that

closet　key　then；　and　the　house　key。　　You　lock　Delia　in。　　You　keep

her　out　of　harm's　way　and　gadding；　and　so　she　never　CAN　be　found

out。





*　The　Cornhill。editor。





And　yet　by　little　strange　accidents　and　coincidents　how　we　are

being　found　out　every　day。　　You　remember　that　old　story　of　the　Abbe

Kakatoes；　who　told　the　company　at　supper　one　night　how　the　first

confession　he　ever　received　wasfrom　a　murderer；　let　us　say。

Presently　enters　to　supper　the　Marquis　de　Croquemitaine。

〃Palsambleu；　abbe！〃　says　the　brilliant　marquis；　taking　a　pinch　of

snuff；　〃are　you　here？　　Gentlemen　and　ladies！　　I　was　the　abbe's

first　penitent；　and　I　made　him　a　confession；　which　I　promise　you

astonished　him。〃



To　be　sure　how　queerly　things　are　found　out！　　Here　is　an　instance。

Only　the　other　day　I　was　writing　in　these　Roundabout　Papers　about　a

certain　man；　whom　I　facetiously　called　Baggs；　and　who　had　abused　me

to　my　friends；　who　of　course　told　me。　　Shortly　after　that　paper　was

published　another　friendSacks　let　us　call　himscowls　fiercely　at

me　as　I　am　sitting　in　perfect　good　humor　at　the　club；　and　passes　on

without　speaking。　　A　cut。　　A　quarrel。　　Sacks　thinks　it　is　about　him

that　I　was　writing：　whereas；　upon　my　honor　and　conscience；　I　never

had　him　once　in　my　mind；　and　was　pointing　my　moral　from　quite

another　man。　　But　don't　you　see；　by　this　wrath　of　the　guilty…

conscienced　Sacks；　that　he　had　been　abusing　me　too？　　He　has　owned

himself　guilty；　never　having　been　accused。　　He　has　winced　when

nobody　thought　of　hitting　him。　　I　did　but　put　the　cap　out；　and

madly　butting　and　chafing；　behold　my　friend　rushes　out　to　put　his

head　into　it！　　Never　mind；　Sacks；　you　are　found　out；　but　I　bear　you

no　malice；　my　man。



And　yet　to　be　found　out；　I　know　from　my　own　experience；　must　be

painful　and　odious；　and　cruelly　mortifying　to　the　inward　vanity。

Suppose　I　am　a　poltroon；　let　us　say。　　With　fierce　mustache；　loud

talk；　plentiful　oaths；　and　an　immense　stick；　I　keep　up　nevertheless

a　character　for　courage。　　I　swear　fearfully　at　cabmen　and　women；

brandish　my　bludgeon；　and　perhaps　knock　down　a　little　man　or　two

with　it：　brag　of　the　images　which　I　break　at　the　shooting　gallery；

and　pass　among　my　friends　for　a　whiskery　fire…eater；　afraid　of

neither　man　nor　dragon。　　Ah　me！　　Suppose　some　brisk　little　chap

steps　up　and　gives　me　a　caning　in　St。　James's　Street；　with　all　the

heads　of　my　friends　looking　out　of　all　the　club　windows。　　My

reputation　is　gone。　　I　frighten　no　man　more。　　My　nose　is　pulled　by

whipper…snappers；　who　jump　up　on　a　chair　to　reach　it。　　I　am　found

out。　　And　in　the　days　of　my　triumphs；　when　people　were　yet　afraid

of　me；　and　were　taken　in　by　my　swagger；　I　always　knew　that　I　was　a

lily　liver；　and　expected　that　I　should　be　found　out　some　day。



That　certainty　of　being　found　out　must　haunt　and　depress　many　a

bold　braggadocio　spirit。　　Let　us　say　it　is　a　clergyman；　who　can

pump　copious　floods　of　tears　out　of　his　own　eyes　and　those　of　his

audience。　　He　thinks　to　himself；　〃I　am　but　a　poor　swindling；

chattering　rogue。　　My　bills　are　unpaid。　　I　have　jilted　several

women　whom　I　have　promised　to　marry。　　I　don't　know　whether　I

believe　what　I　preach；　and　I　know　I　have　stolen　the　very　sermon

over　which　I　have　been　sniveling。　　Have　they　found　me　out？〃　says

he；　as　his　head　drops　down　on　the　cushion。



Then　your　writer；　poet；　historian；　novelist；　or　what　not？　　The

Beacon　says　that　〃Jones's　work　is　one　of　the　first　order。〃　　The

Lamp　declares　that　Jones's　tragedy　surpasses　every　work　since　the

days　of　Him　of　Avon。〃　　The　Comet　asserts　that　〃J's　'Life　of　Goody

Twoshoes'　is　a　＇Greek　text　omitted＇；　a　noble　and　enduring　monument

to　the　fame　of　that　admirable　Englishwoman；〃　and　so　forth。　　But

then　Jones　knows　that　he　has　lent　the　critic　of　the　Beacon　five

pounds；　that　his　publisher　has　a　half　share　in　the　Lamp；　and　that

the　Cornet　comes　repeatedly　to　dine　with　him。　　It　is　all　very　well。

Jones　is　immortal　until　he　is　found　out；　and　then　down　comes　the

extinguisher；　and　the　immortal　is　dead　and　buried。　　The　idea　（dies

irae！）　of　discovery　must　haunt　many　a　man；　and　make　him　uneasy；　as

the　trumpets　are　puffing　in　his　triumph。　　Brown；　who　has　a　higher

place　than　he　deserves；　cowers　before　Smith；　who　has　found　him　out。

What　is　the　chorus　of　critics　shouting　〃Bravo〃？a　public　clapping

hands　and　flinging　garlands？　　Brown　knows　that　Smith　has　found　him

out。　　Puff；　trumpets！　　Wave；　banners！　　Huzza；　boys；　for　the

immortal　Brown！　　This　is　all　very　well；〃　B。　thinks　（bowing　the

while；　smiling；　laying　his　hand　to　his　heart）；　〃but　there　stands

Smith　at　the　window：　HE　has　measured　me；　and　some　day　the　others

will　find　me　out　too。〃　　It　is　a　very　curious　sensation　to　sit　by　a

man　who　has　found　you　out；　and　who；　as　you　know；　has　found　you　out；

or；　vice　versa；　to　sit　with　a　man　whom　YOU　have　found　out。　　His

talent？　　Bah！　　His　virtue？　　We　know　a　little　story　or　two　about　his

virtue；　and　he　knows　we　know　it。　　We　are　thinking　over　friend

Robinson's　antecedents；　as　we　grin；　bow　and　talk；　and　we　are　both

humbugs　together。　　Robinson　a　good　fellow；　is　he？　　You　know　how　he

behaved　to　Hicks？　　A　good…natured　man；　is　he？　　Pray　do　you　remember

that　little　story　of　Mrs。　Robinson's　black　eye？　　How　men　have　to

work；　to　talk；　to　smile；　to　go　to　bed；　and　try　and　sleep；　with　this

dread　of　being　found　out　on　their　consciences！　　Bardolph；　who　has

robbed　a　church；　and　Nym；　who　has　taken　a　purse；　go　to　their　usual

haunts；　and　smoke　their　pipes　with　their　companions。　　Mr。　Detective

Bullseye　appears；　and　says；　〃Oh；　Bardolph！　　I　want　you　about　that

there　pyx　business！〃　　Mr。　Bardolph　knocks　the　ashes　out　of　his

pipe；　puts　out　his　hands　to　the　little　steel　cuffs；　and　walks　away

quite　meekly。　　He　is　found　out。　　He　must　go。　　〃Good…by；　'Doll

Tearsheet！　　Good…by；　Mrs。　Quickly；　ma'am！〃　　The　other　gentlemen　and

ladies　de　la　societe　look　on　and　exchange　mute　adieux　with　the

departing　friends。　　And　an　assured　time　will　come　when　the　other

gentlemen　and　ladies　will　be　found　out　too。



What　a　wonderful　and　beautiful　provision　of　nature　it　has　been

that；　for　the　most　part；　our　womankind　are　not　endowed　with　the

faculty　of　finding　us　out！　　THEY　don't　doubt；　and　probe；　and　weigh；

and　take　your　measure。　　Lay　down　this　paper；　my　benevolent　friend

and　reader；　go　into　your　drawing…room　now；　and　utter　a　joke　ever　so

old；　and　I　wager　sixpence　the　ladies　there　will　all　begin　to　laugh。

Go　to　Brown's　house；　and　tell　Mrs。　Brown　and　the　young　ladies　what

you　think　of　him；　and　see　what　a　welcome　you　will　get！　　In　like

manner；　let　him　come　to　your　house；　and　tell　YOUR　good　lady　his

candid　opinion　of　you；　and　fancy　how　she　will　receive　him！　　Would

you　have　your　wife　and　children　know　you　exactly　for　what　you　are；

and　esteem　you　precisely　at　your　worth？　　If　so；　my　friend；　you　will

live　in　a　dreary　house；　and　you　will　have　but　a　chilly　fireside。

Do　you　suppose　the　people　round　it　don't　see　your　homely　face　as

under　a　glamour；　and；　as　it　were；　with　a　halo　of　love　round　it？

You　don't　fancy　you　ARE　as　you　seem　to　them？　　No　such　thing；　my

man。　　Put　away　that　monstrous　conceit；　and　be　thankful　that　THEY

have　not　found　you　out。







The　Notch　on　the　Ax



A　Story　a　la　Mode*





*　（Here　Thackeray　reduces　to　an　absurdity　the　literary　fashion　of

the　daythe　vogue　for　startling　stories　and　〃Tales　of　Terror；〃

which　was　high　in　his　time；　and　which　influenced　several　of　the

stories　which　precede　in　this　volume。　　But　while　Dickens　made　fun；

with　mental　reservations；　while　Bulwer　Lytton　tried　to　explain　by

rising　to　the　heights　of　natural　philosophy；　and　Maturin　did　not

explain　at　all；　but　let　his　extravagant　genius　roam　between　heaven

and　earthThackeray's　keen　wit　saw　mainly　one　chance　for　exquisite

literary　satire　and　parody。　　At　one　point　or　another　in　this　skit；

the　style　of　each　principal　sensational　novelist　of　the　day　is

delightfully　imitated。EDITOR。）





I





Every　one　remembers　in　the　Fourth　Book　of　the　immortal　poem　of　your

Blind　Bard　（to　whose　sightless　orbs　no　doubt　Glorious　Shapes　were

apparent；　and　Visions　Celestial）；　how　Adam　discourses　to　Eve　of　the

Bright　Visitors　who　hovered　round　their　Eden





　　　　　'Millions　of　spiritual　creatures　walk　the　earth；

　　　　　　Unseen；　both　when　we　wake　and　when　we　sleep。'





〃'How　often；'　says　Father　Adam；　'from　the　s