ad
left forever. A change passed like a shadow over it. The lamps died out,
the siren women and masked men vanished, the flowers, the fruits, the
bright silver and bizarre furniture faded swiftly, and I saw again, for
the tenth of a second, my own old chamber restored. There was the acacia
waving darkly; there was the table littered with books; there was the
ghostly lithograph, the dearly beloved smoking-cap, the Canadian
snow-shoes, the ancestral dagger. And there, at the piano, organ no
longer, sat Blokeeta playing.

The next instant the door closed violently, and I was left standing in
the corridor stunned and despairing.

As soon as I had partially recovered my comprehension I rushed madly to
the door, with the dim idea of beating it in. My fingers touched a cold
and solid wall. There was no door! I felt all along the corridor for
many yards on both sides. There was not even a crevice to give me hope.
I rushed downstairs shouting madly. No one answered. In the vestibule I
met the negro; I seized him by the collar and demanded my room. The
demon showed his white and awful teeth, which were filed into a saw-like
shape, and extricating himself from my grasp with a sudden jerk, fled
down the passage with a gibbering laugh. Nothing but echo answered to my
despairing shrieks. The lonely garden resounded with my cries as I
strode madly through the dark walls, and the tall funereal cypresses
seemed to bury me beneath their heavy shadows. I met no one,--could find
no one. I had to bear my sorrow and despair alone.

Since that awful hour I have never found my room. Everywhere I look for
it, yet never see it. Shall I ever find it?

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Masterpieces of Mystery, by Various

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