the haunted hotel(闹鬼的旅馆)-第29节
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the night unsuspiciously and comfortably in 'No。 13 A；' to ask him in the
presence of witnesses how he liked his bedchamber？ In this case； if the
reputation of the room happened to be called in question again； the answer
would vindicate it； on the evidence of a member of the very family which
had first given Number Fourteen a bad name。 After a little reflection； the
manager decided on trying the experiment； and directed that '13 A' should
be reserved accordingly。
On the next day； Francis Westwick arrived in excellent spirits。
He had signed agreements with the most popular dancer in Italy； he
had transferred the charge of Mrs。 Norbury to his brother Henry； who had
joined him in Milan； and he was now at full liberty to amuse himself by
testing in every possible way the extraordinary influence exercised over
his relatives by the new hotel。 When his brother and sister first told him
what their experience had been； he instantly declared that he would go to
Venice in the interest of his theatre。 The circumstances related to him
contained invaluable hints for a ghost…drama。 The title occurred to him in
the railway： 'The Haunted Hotel。' Post that in red letters six feet high； on
a black ground； all over Londonand trust the excitable public to crowd
into the theatre！
Received with the politest attention by the manager； Francis met with a
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disappointment on entering the hotel。 'Some mistake； sir。 No such room
on the first floor as Number Fourteen。 The room bearing that number is
on the second floor； and has been occupied by me； from the day when the
hotel opened。 Perhaps you meant number 13 A； on the first floor？ It
will be at your service to…morrow a charming room。 In the mean time；
we will do the best we can for you； to…night。'
A man who is the successful manager of a theatre is probably the last
man in the civilized universe who is capable of being impressed with
favourable opinions of his fellow…creatures。 Francis privately set the
manager down as a humbug； and the story about the numbering of the
rooms as a lie。
On the day of his arrival； he dined by himself in the restaurant； before
the hour of the table d'hote； for the express purpose of questioning the
waiter； without being overheard by anybody。 The answer led him to the
conclusion that '13 A' occupied the situation in the hotel which had been
described by his brother and sister as the situation of '14。' He asked next
for the Visitors' List； and found that the French gentleman who then
occupied '13 A；' was the proprietor of a theatre in Paris； personally well
known to him。 Was the gentleman then in the hotel？ He had gone out；
but would certainly return for the table d'hote。 When the public dinner was
over； Francis entered the room； and was welcomed by his Parisian
colleague； literally； with open arms。 'Come and have a cigar in my room；'
said the friendly Frenchman。 'I want to hear whether you have really
engaged that woman at Milan or not。' In this easy way； Francis found his
opportunity of comparing the interior of the room with the description
which he had heard of it at Milan。
Arriving at the door； the Frenchman bethought himself of his
travelling companion。 'My scene…painter is here with me；' he said； 'on the
look…out for materials。 An excellent fellow； who will take it as a
kindness if we ask him to join us。 I'll tell the porter to send him up when
he comes in。' He handed the key of his room to Francis。 'I will be back in
a minute。 It's at the end of the corridor 13 A。'
Francis entered the room alone。 There were the decorations on the
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walls and the ceiling； exactly as they had been described to him！ He had
just time to perceive this at a glance； before his attention was diverted to
himself and his own sensations； by a grotesquely disagreeable occurrence
which took him completely by surprise。
He became conscious of a mysteriously offensive odour in the room；
entirely new in his experience of revolting smells。 It was composed （if
such a thing could be） of two mingling exhalations； which were
separately…discoverable exhalations nevertheless。 This strange blending of
odours consisted of something faintly and unpleasantly aromatic； mixed
with another underlying smell； so unutterably sickening that he threw open
the window； and put his head out into the fresh air； unable to endure the
horribly infected atmosphere for a moment longer。
The French proprietor joined his English friend； with his cigar already
lit。 He started back in dismay at a sight terrible to his countrymen in
generalthe sight of an open window。 'You English people are perfectly
mad on the subject of fresh air！' he exclaimed。 'We shall catch our deaths
of cold。'
Francis turned； and looked at him in astonishment。 'Are you really
not aware of the smell there is in the room？' he asked。
'Smell！' repeated his brother…manager。 'I smell my own good cigar。 Try
one yourself。 And for Heaven's sake shut the window！'
Francis declined the cigar by a sign。 'Forgive me；' he said。 'I will
leave you to close the window。 I feel faint and giddy I had better go
out。' He put his handkerchief over his nose and mouth； and crossed the
room to the door。
The Frenchman followed the movements of Francis； in such a state of
bewilderment that he actually forgot to seize the opportunity of shutting
out the fresh air。 'Is it so nasty as that？' he asked； with a broad stare of
amazement。
'Horrible！' Francis muttered behind his handkerchief。 'I never smelt
anything like it in my life！'
There was a knock at the door。 The scene…painter appeared。 His
employer instantly asked him if he smelt anything。
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'I smell your cigar。 Delicious！ Give me one directly！'
'Wait a minute。 Besides my cigar； do you smell anything elsevile；
abominable； overpowering； indescribable； never…never…never…smelt
before？'
The scene…painter appeared to be puzzled by the vehement energy of
the language addressed to him。 'The room is as fresh and sweet as a
room can be；' he answered。 As he spoke； he looked back with
astonishment at Francis Westwick； standing outside in the corridor； and
eyeing the interior of the bedchamber with an expression of undisguised
disgust。
The Parisian director approached his English colleague； and looked at
him with grave and anxious scrutiny。
'You see； my friend； here are two of us； with as good noses as yours；
who smell nothing。 If you want evidence from more noses； look there！'
He pointed to two little English girls； at play in the corridor。 'The door of
my room is wide openand you know how fast a smell can travel。 Now
listen； while I appeal to these innocent noses； in the language of their own
dismal island。 My little loves； do you sniff a nasty smell hereha？' The
children burst out laughing； and answered emphatically； 'No。' 'My good
Westwick；' the Frenchman resumed； in his own language； 'the conclusion
is surely plain？ There is something wrong； very wrong； with your own
nose。 I recommend you to see a medical man。'
Having given that advice； he returned to his room； and shut out the
horrid fresh air with a loud exclamation of relief。 Francis left the hotel； by
the lanes that led to the Square of St。 Mark。 The night…breeze soon revived
him。 He was able to light a cigar； and to think quietly over what had
happened。
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THE
