Chapter 4 A Traveler's Scary Strange Bed Story

I was in Paris with an English friend when I was finishing my university studies.We were all young people at that time, and I am afraid that life was really rough, especially when we stayed in such an exciting city.One evening we were wandering about the grounds of the Grand Royal Hotel, wondering what we could do next to amuse ourselves.At this time my friend suggested a visit to Frascati, but his suggestion was not to my liking at the time.I remember Frascati in my heart, where I spent and earned untold five-franc coins just for the fun of it, until one day I lost interest in it, and in fact this socially heterogeneous place served as a place of far and near. The famous gambling room has become a scenic spot.

"God," I said to my friend, "let's go find a place where we can see some real, dirty, poor people play, without all those cheap gingerbread and Christmas baubles strewn all over the place .Let's get away from this trendy Frascati and go to a school where people don't mind having a guy with a tattered coat, or no coat at all - tattered or not People, just go in and out of the house as you like." "Great," said my friend, "we don't have to look outside the Royal Hotel for a place like that you want. There's a place like this right in front of us, and it's just as nasty as it gets." — according to everyone who's been there, it's just what you'd expect to see." After a while we reached the door and entered the room.

On the way up the stairs, the porter took our hats and canes, and we were ushered into the central gambling hall.We don't see many people gathering there.And not a lot of people looked up to see us walk in, they were all typical - really sadly typical - people of their class. We came to see rogues, but they're much worse.Dirty has its ludicrous side too, visible or not - and here there's nothing but horrific - sheer weird, jaw-dropping horrific.The room was eerily quiet.The gaunt, long-haired young man with large, sunken eyes staring intently at every flipping card without saying a word; The card player, who was scratching a piece of cardboard, noting the number of black and red wins separately--didn't hear him speak; the dirty, wrinkled old man, With vulture-like eyes and a long, patched coat, he gambled away the last of the little notes, and was still watching intently, even though there was no chance to play again— Also said nothing.Even the dealer's voice sounded so dull and dignified.Given the ambiance of the whole room, I had come into this place to have fun, and what I saw made me want to cry.I saw right away that it was extremely necessary to take refuge in a stimulating inner feeling in order to catch my breath in this oncoming oppressive atmosphere.But the worst part was that I took the most straightforward way of seeking excitement, walked straight to the table, and started playing cards.And what's worse, as it happened, I actually won -- won a lot; won incredible.The win was so unexpected that the usual players at the table gathered around me, staring longingly and mysteriously at the cards in my hand, and whispering to each other about this strange man from England. People are probably going to bankrupt the bank or something.

This time it was "Red and Black".I've played this game in every city in Europe, and yet, I don't want to know the secret of winning in it--like all gamblers' treasures of philosophers, they say!As a gambler, exactly what the word describes, I never fantasized about it.I'm just willing to be the victim of this kind of game.I participated in the game purely for fun.I never got addicted to it because I never knew what it was like to lose it all.I've never played endlessly until I lost my ass, or won so much that it was difficult to calm down when I pocketed it, and I was so carried away by my luck that I couldn't help it.In short, I have hitherto frequented the card-room tables--as I have frequented the ballroom--theatres--because these establishments entertained me, and because I had nothing better to do with my free time.

But on this occasion, things are completely different-now, for the first time in my life, I really feel the true meaning of the game from the bottom of my heart.For the first time I was bewildered by my success and, in the true sense of the adjective, ecstatic.It may seem unbelievable, but it is the reality, and if I try to take my chances and play my cards according to the expected estimates, I will lose.And when I leave it all to fate and place my bets without any thought in mind, I'm sure to win--to win even the bank must be profitable in every way on the face of it.At first, some of those present dared to put their money and goods on my suit with complete confidence; but I immediately raised my stake to an amount they dared not risk.They withdrew from the game one by one, watching my game with full concentration.

But still, time and time again, I upped my bet and still won.Emotions rose to fever pitch throughout the room.The deathly silence was broken by a dull chorus of curses and exclamations in every language, and there was cheer every time a pile of gold coins was hugged to my side across the table-even the dealer, who was seated like a mountain Both slammed their rakes on the floor, expressing their anger at my success in his (French) astonishment.But there was one person present who still controlled his emotions, and that person was my friend.He came to my side and whispered to me in English, begging me to leave this place quickly, it is better to stop here.I must fairly admit that he repeated his advice and entreaties to me several times, and after I rejected his advice, simply walked away from my side (my whole mind and will were absorbed in gambling ) at a distance, it was impossible to say a word to me that night again.

He had hardly left my side when a rough voice called out behind me: "Permit me, my dear sir!—permit me to return the two napoleons you dropped on the floor. Luck That's nice, sir! Please let me put my respects into words, as an old soldier, in all my long experience of such things, I never saw such good Luck! Never! Keep it up, sir—in the long run, the brave will win! The brave won't be afraid, let the banks close!" I turned around and saw a tall man, looking at me nodding and bowing, with a flattering smile on his face, wearing a long lace coat with long buttons and lace.

If I had been more sober at the time, I might have secretly speculated that he was actually a very suspicious so-called old soldier type.He had bloodshot eyes with dark circles, scabbed sideburns, and a big rosacea nose.His voice sounded like the worst barracks ordering, and he had the dirtiest hands I've ever seen—even here in France.However, these appearance characteristics did not arouse my psychological disgust.In the midst of the euphoria, the restlessness of victory at this moment, I can "get along" with anyone who encourages me in this game.I took the pinch of snuff the old soldier handed me; stroked his back lightly, and solemnly declared him the most honest man in the world—hailed him as the "Holy Army" I had ever met. The most honorable living of them all. "Go on!" encouraged my military friend, snapping his fingers agitatedly -- "Go on, we must win! Let the banks fail - go ahead, fearless! My brave fellow Britons, let the banks close! "

So I went on -- so fast and so fast that after another quarter of an hour I heard the dealer cry out: "Gentlemen! The bank ceases to exist as of this evening. "All the banknotes, and all the gold coins in the so-called "bank" are piled up in my hand at this time; the funds circulating in the whole gambling room are ready to flow into my bank In the pocket! "Tie up all the money with the handkerchief in your pocket, my venerable sir," said the old soldier, while I could not restrain my fingers frantically into my pile of gold and silver. "Bundle up, as we used to pack up a little leftovers in the Holy Army; no pair of trouser pockets could have been sewn to withstand such a prize as yours. There! There! — Hug them here, those notes and all the money! Unthinkable! What luck — stop! Another Napoleon coin has fallen on the floor! Ah! Napoleon lives forever! Have I found you at last? Well now , sir—let me fasten you a double button at both ends, so long as I am lucky enough to get your permission, so that the money will be safe. Touch it! Touch it, lucky sir! And round Hard as a cannonball—oh, boom! If they had fired one of those at us at Austerlitz—everything would have changed! If only they had! And now, as An old bombardier, what else is left for me as a former warrior in the French army? Why do I ask? That's all: that is to beg my esteemed English friend to come with me for a drink. A bottle of champagne, and a toast to Lady Luck with a frothy glass before we part!"

What a former warrior!Happy old bombardier!Hard-won champagne!Cheers to an old soldier's British style!Long live!Long live!Cheers again to Lady Luck!Long live!Long live!Long live! "Very well! Englishman. Good, generous Englishman, with the blood of merry France in his veins! Another glass? Ah, boom! -- the bottle is empty! Don't worry about it! Victory Hooray! I, an old soldier, order another bottle, and half a pound of Boom Boom!" "No, no, former warrior; don't—ancient bombardier! Your last bottle; this one is mine. Look! Cheers! French troops!—Great Napoleon!—The present The team! The dealer! The honest dealer's wives and daughters—if he ever had one! All the ladies! All the people of the world!"

By the time the second bottle of champagne was drained, I felt as if I was drinking a moving flame—my brain seemed to be on fire.I've never in my entire life felt like this from drinking too much alcohol.Could this be the result of the stimulant acting on my nervous system when I was in a state of high arousal?Could it be that my stomach is in a state of extreme disorder?Or are these champagnes too strong? "Ex-warrior of the French army!" I cried, almost insanely excited. "I'm on fire! How do you feel? You set me on fire! Did you hear that, my O'Neill?" Stirlitz hero? Let's make a third bottle of champagne and put these fires out!" The old soldier nodded his head up and down, rolled his panda-like eyeballs until I thought they were about to fall out of their sockets, pressed a dirty index finger to the side of his rosy nose, and said sternly He said decisively, "Coffee!" After speaking, he ran into a room in the blink of an eye. These words of the eccentric veteran seemed to have a miraculous effect on the rest of the people present.In unison they got up and walked away.Maybe they were all hoping to get something out of my head, but finding out that my new friend was taking good care of me so I wouldn't die of drunkenness, they all gave up thinking about my winnings.Whatever their intentions, they've finally left.When the old soldier returned and sat down across the table from me, it was just the two of us in the room.I could see the dealer, he was just outside the room in the hall, eating his supper by himself.At this time, the surroundings became even more silent. Suddenly, the expression on the face of the "former warrior" changed.He put on a pretentious and solemn expression, and when he spoke to me again, his sentences were no longer full of rhetoric and promises, and he no longer snapped his fingers to impress himself, and there was no longer any eloquent and expressive words. Shouted and amazed. "Listen, my dear sir," he said, in a tone of enigma and daring, "take the advice of an old soldier. I have gone to the mistress of the house (a very charming woman, a cook of Superb!) Explained to her the necessity of having a good espresso prepared especially for us. You must drink some of this, and subdue your somewhat gleeful obsequiousness, before you want to go home— You must do it, my kind and generous friend! Tonight you will go home with your money, and it is a sacred duty to yourself to keep your sanity. Several gentlemen have already spread the word of your victory tonight Well, in a way, they are very honest and well-behaved people; but they are also human beings, my dear sir, and they have human frailties in them! Need I say more? Oh, no, no You understand me! Now, here's what you have to do - get someone to call a covered car, if you feel better - pull up the windows when you get in - tell the driver to go along The wide and bright street will send you home. Do it, and you and your money will be safe. Then tomorrow morning you will be thanking an old soldier for his honest advice." Just as the former warrior finished speaking with earnestness and enthusiasm, the coffee was brought in and poured into two cups.My concerned friend bent over and handed me one of the coffees.I was so thirsty that my throat was on fire, and I drank the contents of the glass in one gulp.After hardly a second, I suddenly felt dizzy, even more dizzy than before.It seemed to me that the whole room was spinning around me, spinning wildly; the old soldier was bobbing up and down in front of me like the piston of a steam engine.I was almost knocked out by the sound of clanging in my ears; I was stunned there with a sense of extreme confusion and helplessness.I got up from the armchair, keeping my hands steady on the table; muttering, I felt very ill - to the point where I didn't know how to get home. "My dear friend," replied the old soldier--even as he spoke his voice seemed to be bobbing up and down--"my dear friend, it is maddened to go home in the state you are in; Surely you'll lose your money; you'll be easily robbed and murdered. I'm going to sleep here for the night, so you too—they've built a lot in this house Big bed—go get one; sleep on it and the booze is over, and go home with your winnings tomorrow morning—tomorrow morning, when it’s daylight.” I had only two thoughts at this moment: one, I must hold on to the handkerchief full of money; and the other, I must find a place to lie down quickly and sleep comfortably.So I took the advice to go to bed, and took hold of the old soldier's outstretched arm, freeing my other hand to grab my wallet.Guided by the dealer, we walked through a few passages and up the stairs into the bedroom where I was going to rest.The ex-warrior eagerly shook my arm, told me he would have breakfast with me tomorrow, then walked out with the dealer in tandem, leaving me here for the night. I took a few steps to the washstand, drank a little from my pitcher, poured out the rest, and plunged into the basin; then sat down in an armchair, and tried to steady myself Emotions.After a while I felt better.The change of what was in my lungs, from the fetid breath of the gambling room, to the fresh, cool air of the apartment in which I now find myself; The light of the gas lamp to the soft flickering of the candlelight in this dim and quiet bedroom; all these, combined with the effect of cold water, had a miraculous calming effect on me.The groggy feeling lifted from me and I was sort of a sane person again.My first thought was that it was dangerous to sleep in a gambling room all night; my second thought was that it was even more dangerous to go out after the house was closed and just come home alone at night, in the Walking through the streets and alleys of Paris, I still carry a lot of money and things around me.I have slept in worse places than this in my travels; so I resolved to bolt and block the windows and sleep here, perhaps till the next morning. As a result, I have done all the protection against intrusion by myself: checked the situation under the bed and in the closet; I took my lamp, which was the dimmest lamp, and put it on the hearth among the feathery ashes on the hearth, got into bed, and put my handkerchief full of money in it. under my pillow. After a while, I found that not only could I not fall asleep at all, but even trying to close my eyes was difficult.My eyes were wide open and I had a high fever.Every nerve in my body quivered—every my sensory ending seemed unnaturally sharp.I turned over and over and tried various sleeping positions, and tried my best to find any cold corner of the bed where the air leaked, but everything was useless.For a while, I crossed my arms outside the clothes; It was about to touch my chin; for a while, I pushed away the wrinkled pillow, moved it to the cold side of the bed, patted it flat, and lay down quietly on my back; It was stacked in two layers, then stood it up, leaned against the bed, tried to lean on it, and took a sitting position.All these efforts failed; I grunted angrily because I didn't feel like I was going to be able to sleep that night anyway. But what else can I do?I don't have a book handy to read.However, unless I could find some means of diverting my attention, I felt sure that I would be thrown into many grotesque phantasies;In a word, the whole night can only be spent in the expected countless mental panic. Propping myself on my elbows, I looked around the room - which was like daylight with the lovely moonlight pouring in from the windows - to see if there were any pictures or decorations in the room, could Take advantage of the bright moonlight to see clearly.As I glanced from one wall to the next, I suddenly remembered that lovely little book by Meyest, The Sleeper on a Journey.I decided to imitate this French author, find some things to please myself, so as to eliminate the trouble caused by insomnia, imagine all kinds of visible furniture samples in my mind, and use them to imagine the possible events between them. Some connections between people, even a chair, a table, or a sink may have this association. It was in this state of restlessness that I found it easier to use my imagination instead of trying to recall the events of the little book, and so I gave up following the course of the Maester. Hallucinatory thoughts lingering thoughts—or, to be precise, not having to use the mind at all.I just looked around the room, looking at all kinds of different furniture and decorations, without superfluous thoughts. First, there is a bed on which I am lying; a four-poster bed, which is one of those things that must be met here in Paris! —yes, a four-poster bed of the English style that could not be more bulky, with a neat top paneled in chintz--fringes neatly fringed around the frame--that breathless half-drape , I remember that when I just walked into the room, I rolled them up and hung them on the pillars, and didn't pay much attention to the situation on the bed.Then I saw the marble-topped wash-stand, where I spilled water all over the floor, and, in my haste to get it out, is still there ticking more and more slowly, dripping on the masonry. on the floor.After that came two small armchairs on which my coat, waistcoat, and trousers were draped.Then there was a big chaise longue, covered with dirty chintz, with my tie and shirt collar draped over the back.Then there was a table of drawers, missing two of its brass handles—the ornate and vulgar kind—and a broken ceramic pen holder resting on it, presumably as an ornament on the table.Then came the dressing-table, adorned with a small full-length mirror, and a very large pin-cushion on top.Then came the window—a window of unusual size.Then came an old picture, seen in dim candlelight.It is a portrait of a man wearing a tall Spanish hat topped by a tuft of ruffled bird feathers.A dark, sinister villain at first glance, looking up, with a hand over his eyes, staring intently upwards—possibly toward some high gallows where he is about to be hanged. Gallows to die on.In any case, his fate seemed certain. Looking at this picture made my heart tighten, and I didn't dare to look up like he did—there was the top of the bed.It was a very gloomy and uninteresting place, so I turned to look at the picture again.I mentally counted the feathers on the man's hat—they were very clear because of the background of the picture—three white and two green.I gazed at the crown of his hat, which was conical in shape, after the pattern probably favored by Old Edwin Fox.I wondered what he was looking at.Surely he could not see the stars; such a thug would be neither an astrologer nor an astronomer.Then it must be a gallows on high, and he is about to be hung on it.The executioner would presumably take the top hat and feathers from his conical hat.I counted the feathers again—three white ones, two green ones. When I was still obsessed with this labor-intensive problem, I unconsciously began to lose my mind.The bright moonlight filtering through the room reminded me of a moonlit night in England—the night after a picnic party in the Great Glen of Wales.Every incident on the way home, the beautiful scenery along the way, all the more beautiful under the moonlight, I remember, though I never thought of that picnic party in all these years; although say, if I want If I try to remember, I can only remember a little bit or not at all of those distant memories.Of all those faculties which help us to think ourselves immortal, which one can tell us this sublime fact more plainly than memory?Here I am, in this strange house of a most dubious nature, in an uncertain and even dangerous situation, and it seems that my simplest memory is almost incapable of functioning; Scenes, characters, dialogues, flashes of situations of every detail I thought I had forgotten;But what kind of reason, at this very moment, caused me to have such a strange, complicated and mysterious effect?For no reason other than a few bright rays of moonlight filtering through my bedroom window. I'm still brooding on that picnic--on the joy of the ride home--on the sentimental lady who might quote a line from "Child Harold" just because there was moonlight.I was indulging in such amorous feelings of the past, reminiscing about the happiness of the past, but suddenly, with a bang, the silk thread that maintained my memory broke: my attention instantly returned to reality, the current situation It was clearer than ever before my eyes, and once again I found myself still staring at the picture, knowing neither why nor why. What are you looking at? my Lord!The man had pulled his hat down over his forehead—no!That hat no longer exists!Where did the conical crown go?Where are those few feathers--three white ones and two green ones?It doesn't exist anymore!Where the hat and feathers used to be, there is only a vague shape covering his forehead and his eyes. Did he stretch out his hand to cover them? Could it be that the bed is moving? I rolled over on my back and looked up.Am I crazy?Still drunk?Still dreaming?Are you confused again?Or is the top of the bed really moving down - slowly coming down, continuously, silently, horribly, the whole side of the top of the bed is coming down - coming down on top of me, and I'm just Lying down there? The blood in my whole body seemed to be congealed.A cold numbness suddenly hit my whole body. I turned my head on the pillow, wanting to see if the top of the bed was really moving, or if I stared at the man in the picture for a long time to see the eyes appear. hallucinated. A glance in that direction is enough.The dark, dirty half-hanging drapery above me was barely an inch away from being even with his waist.I held my breath and stared wide-eyed without blinking.Continuously and slowly—very slowly—I saw the human figure on the screen, and the bottom line of the frame below the figure, as the half-draped curtain moved down and disappeared behind it for a while. Physically I am by no means a weakling.I've been in life-threatening danger on more than one occasion, but never had a moment where I couldn't hold myself back.But when I was sure that the top of the bed was indeed moving, that it was indeed pressing down on me uninterruptedly, I looked up and trembled helplessly in the midst of this horrific murder. Under the machine, I lay there watching it press down step by step and suffocate me there. I looked up, motionless, my mouth was frozen, and I couldn't breathe.The candle, which was completely burnt out, was also extinguished at this time; but the moonlight still illuminated the room.It came down little by little, without stopping, without sound, the top of the bed came down, but the panic in my heart seemed to bind me tightly to the mattress under me-it went little by little. Down until the smell of dust on the canopy tassels is in my nostrils. In this last moment, the instinct of self-preservation caused me to jump out of my hypnotic state, and I was finally able to move.There was just enough space for me to roll over on the bed and roll to the side.I fell soundlessly to the floor as the edge of the murder canopy touched my shoulder. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief and wipe the cold sweat off my brow with my hands, I immediately got down on my knees and looked up at the top of the bed.It is no exaggeration to say that I was mesmerized by it.If I had heard footsteps behind me, I would not have turned at all; had a means of escape been miraculously offered to my hand, I certainly would not have reached out to catch it. of.The whole of my physical and mental life, at this moment, is concentrated on my two eyes. It's still falling--the whole canopy, with the fringe that surrounds it, has come--falls--falls down-close to the bed; so tight that my fingers It is difficult to fit between the top of the bed and the surface of the bed.I groped around the side of the bed and found that what I had seen beneath what had been a general canopy over the top of the bedposts was actually a thick, wide mattress covered with short valances and tassels. Just cover it up.I looked up, and the four bedposts stood there horribly alone.In the center of the top of the bed, is a huge wooden screw, and apparently it's this wooden post that goes into a hole in the ceiling that works to lower the top of the bed, as is usually the case with materials that need to be compressed. like applying pressure.The formidable mechanism worked silently, and it came down without a creak; while there was no sound in the room above.In the midst of this silence and terror, I saw before me - in this nineteenth-century capital of French civilization - this machine of secret murder, this mode of smothering that might have appeared in the medieval Inquisition Here, in a small inn in a corner of the Harz Mountains, in the mysterious Westphalian Inquisition!I froze there, staring at it, unable to move, not even to breathe, but I was beginning to regain some of my thinking powers, and after a while I understood this horrific murderous plot aimed entirely at me. Drugs were put in my coffee cup, and they were strong.The reason I wasn't suffocated was because I had overdosed on some narcotic.I was so irritable and irritated by the heat that I didn't go to sleep, which saved my life!I was so reckless that I let these two thugs bring me into this room, determined to kill me in my sleep for the money I won in my pocket, in such cruel and horrible ways Secretly plot against my life!And who knows how many people like me who won the bet once slept in this place, just like I might have slept in this bed, never woke up again, and disappeared without a sound!I shudder just thinking about it. But at this moment, the thoughts in my head froze immediately, and I saw the murderous canopy move again.After it had rested on the bed--that's what I guessed roughly--about ten minutes later it began to rise again.The hooligan manipulating in the upper room evidently believed at this point that they had achieved their purpose.Silently and slowly, as it had descended, the frightful canopy of the bed rose again to its original position.When it reaches the top of the four bedposts, it reaches the ceiling.There was nothing to show where the screw or the hole was; the whole bed looked like an ordinary bed again—the canopy was an ordinary canopy—and the harshest eye could not see the slightest trace. At this moment, I can move for the first time—stand up straight from my knees—put on my coat—think about how I can escape.If I accidentally made a small sound, it might reveal that the attempt to suffocate me had failed, and I would surely be murdered again.Have I made any noise?I pricked up my ears to listen, and looked closely at the door. No!There was no sound outside the porch—no footsteps, soft or heavy, in the rooms above—everywhere was deathly still.Besides fastening my door, I moved over it a large old wooden box, which I found under the bed.为了移动这只箱子（想到它里面可能的盛装之物，我周身的血液不禁都凝固住了！）要想不发出一点惊动来是不可能的；而要想从这所房屋中逃出去，此时它已经夜间密闭了，就更加是天方夜谭疯狂之举了。我此时只有一个机会——从窗户出去。我踮起脚尖悄无声息走过去。 我的卧房在第一层，隔着地下室有一层夹层楼面，看出去外面是后街。我抬起手来把窗户打开，我知道我的这个举动是我命悬一线的逃生机会了。他们对这间“谋杀之屋”有着机警的设防。要是房间四周有任何响动的话，即便是床轴吱嘎一声，我也就命丧黄泉了！这个动作肯定花去了我至少五分钟的时间，这是就时间上来估算的——要是从我的紧张情绪上来算，要有五个小时——这才把窗户打开。我悄没声息地成功打开了窗户——手上的灵巧劲儿就像一个白日行窃的小偷——然后俯身朝下面的街道上看去。要想从这么高的地方跳到下面去，肯定会把我摔死的！接着，我转过头去看着房子的两侧。左边的墙上直上直下是一根粗水管子——它经过的地方就靠近窗户的边上。看到这根水管子的时候，我就知道我得救了。我得呼吸这时候才顺畅第一次起来，自从我看到床顶篷朝我压下来的那一刻起！ 对一些人来说，我发现的这个借以逃生的办法可能看起来是极度困难而危险的——可对我来说，想要顺着这根水管子滑溜到大街上去，却一点都没有问题。由于经常练体操，我知道如何保持自己中学生一样的体力，攀爬起来既大胆而专业；知道自己的头脑够用，双手跟双脚的灵敏程度，足可放心地爬上爬下而没有危险。我已经把一只脚迈出去跨在了窗台上，这时我记起来放在枕头下我的那个装满金钱的手绢包。我不是不舍得把它留下来，而是报复心理促使我决意要让赌博房这些无赖们，在失去牺牲品的同时也得不到这些赃物。因此我回到了床边去，用领带把这个沉甸甸的手绢包拴在了后背上。 正当我把它拴紧，固定在一个比较方便的地方，这个时候，我觉得听到了门外的一阵呼吸声。恐惧的战栗瞬间传遍了我的全身，当我又一次侧耳倾听的时候。No!走廊之中依然是一片死寂——我只不过是听到了夜晚的气息轻柔地吹进房间里来的声音。接着我就来到了窗台上，之后我就紧紧地抓住了水管子，手足并用而下。 我悄无声息地顺着水管轻松地滑落到了大街上，这时我觉得我应该火速跑到附近的警察支署去，我知道它就坐落在临近的一个街区之中。一个警察局副局长和他的几个挑选出来的下属警员此时正好在这里，我想是在酝酿一个特定的计划，为了排查一宗神秘谋杀案的凶犯，整个巴黎这一阵子都在谈说着这宗凶案。当我开始讲述我的故事之时，由于着急再加上法语说得不熟，上气不接下气的样子很是狼狈，我能看出来警察局副局长已经在怀疑我是一个英国酒鬼了，大概已经抢劫过什么人了；可是他又听我讲述了一会儿后就打消了这个念头，在我还没有来得及说出我作为收尾的话语之前，他已经把面前的一堆纸张全都扒进一个抽屉之中，戴上他的帽子，又给我找了一顶戴上（因为我还光着脑袋），喝令一队士兵集合，吩咐他的专业助手们准备好一切破门开锁以及撬开砖石地面的必须工具，然后拉住了我的臂膀，以极其诚挚而恳切的态度，把我随他一起带出了这所房子。我敢说当这个副局长还是一个小孩子的时候，第一次被大人带着去剧院看演出，都没有像现在这么兴奋过，就像这次他要去赌博房里执行公务这样！ 我们顺着街道一路而去，警察局副局长一边细察我的形容，一边对我表示祝贺，就这样带着一队雄壮的兵士们一路前行。房屋的前面和后面都安插了哨兵驻守，在我们刚刚到达之时；随之就是一阵疾风骤雨一般的敲门声；窗户上面出现了一点灯光；我被叮嘱藏在了警察们的身后——接着又是一阵敲门声，一声厉喝“执行公务，请打开门！”听到这声可怕的传唤声，门闩锁钥等立时就被一只看不见的手打开了，警察局副局长刚刚走进走廊的那一刻，就迎面碰上了一脸惊慌半穿着衣服的侍者。下面是接下来发生的简短的对话： “我们想要看一看那个睡在这所房屋里的英国人？” “他几个小时以前走了。” “他不会的。他的朋友走了；可他留下了。给我们看一下他的卧房！” “我向你保证，副局长先生，他不在这里！他——” “我向你保证，葛尔肯先生，他在这里。他在这里睡觉——他觉得你们的床铺不舒服——他去我们那里诉苦去了——它就在我这些人的中间——我正要到他的床架子上找一找有没有跳蚤。雷诺迪恩！〔这是喊他的一个下属的名字，一边伸手指着这个侍者〕扭住这个人的衣领子，把他的两只手绑到身后去。好了，现在，先生们，让我们到楼上去！” 房屋里的每一个男人和女人都被控制起来了——那个“老战士”第一个被抓了起来。我确认了自己曾经睡在上面的那张床，之后我们走进了上面的那个房间里。 房间各处没有什么看起来特别的物什。副局长站在那里环顾四周，命令所有的人安静下来，在地板上使劲踱了两下脚，让拿一支蜡烛过来，专注地看着他刚才跺脚的地方，命令把那儿的地板小心揭开。不一会儿就完成了这个工作。点起火光以后，我们看见了一个很深的木质夹层，就在这个房间的地板与下面房间的天花板之间。就在这个空洞里面露出来一只垂直放着的铁盒子一类的状物，上面涂满了厚厚的一层润滑油；盒子的里面能看见那根螺杆，正与下面的床顶篷相连。还有另外几根长短不等的螺杆，都被刚刚被擦过油的样子；几根杠杆上盖着一层毛毡；整个这个构造是一部有力的压力机的顶部结构——其邪恶而精巧的构成设计之精妙，既能与下面的设备加以连接，解构以后又能尽可能小地掩藏起来——发现这部机械之后，把它拉出到了地板上。副局长费了一点小小的工夫，成功地把这部机械装配在一起，把他的人留下来在上面操作，就和我一起下到了下面的卧室中。这个闷杀人的床顶篷一会儿就落下来了，可并不像我见过它落下来时那样毫无声息。我对副局长提到了这个情况，他的回答极其简单，却令人毛骨悚然。“我的下属们，”他说，“是第一次操作把这个床顶降下来——那些你赢了他们的钱的人可是这么做的老手了。” 我们把整座房屋留给两个警员看管——这所房子里所有的人员当时就被全部移送到了监狱里去了。副局长在他的办公室里录取了我的“官方口供”之后，又带我一起返回到旅馆中去取我的护照。“你认为，”我把护照递给他时问道，“真的有人被闷死在那张床上，就像他们要闷杀我那样吗？” “我看到过数十个被溺毙的人停放在陈尸所里，”副局长回答道，“在他们的记事本上都找到了解释他们之所以投入塞纳河自杀的信件，因为他们都是在赌桌上输净了所有之物。我怎么会知道究竟有多少人走进了你进去过的那间赌博房？赢了像你那么多的钱？睡在你睡过的那张床上？在那张床上睡着了？被闷杀在那张床上？然后又被秘密投进了河中，身上带着一封解释的信件，事先由谋杀者写好，放进他们的记事本里去的？没有一个人可以说清楚，究竟有多少人遭遇了这样不幸的命运，而你就是从这个命运中脱逃的。这所赌博房中的人们对我们掩藏了他们床架机械这个秘密——甚至连警察都无从知晓！那些死去的人们又帮着他们掩盖了这个秘密的另一部分。晚上好，还不如说早上好，福克纳先生！到九点钟再来我的办公室——同时我要说，再会了！” 我的故事的其余部分没过一会儿也讲述了一番。我被一遍一遍审查了个够；赌博房里被严格地从上到下搜了个遍；被监押者们都被分别进行了讯问；其中两个罪行较轻的坦白了罪行。我发现那个“老战士”就是这座赌博房的主人——法官调查出来他在数年前就被军队开除后成了流浪汉；从那时开始就犯下了种种劣行；他存有大量窃得的财物，这些物主们都已经加以确认了；而那个发牌人，还有那个给我倒咖啡的女人，他们作为从犯，都参与了床架子的秘密之中。似乎有些理由猜测，是否所有这所房屋内部的人员都与这架杀人机械有某种关联；由于对此实在无从知晓，这些人也就有幸被作为一般的窃贼及流浪汉加以处理了。至于那个“老战士”以及他的两个直接授命者，他们马上就被判为了囚徒；给我的咖啡中投放药物的那个女人，我已经记不清楚被判了多少年了；那个赌博房里的一般听差被认为“可疑”而被“监候”；而我则在整整一个星期里边（多么漫长的时光），成为了巴黎社交界的头号“社交宠儿”。我的这次险遇被三个享有盛名的戏剧家加以演绎渲染，但却从未看到搬上舞台晓示天下；这是由于审查机构禁止在舞台上再现这个赌博房床架子凶案的实录。 我的这次冒险经历最直接的一个良好结局，是任何一个审查机构都必须承认的——它拯救了我不再把“红与黑”当做一种乐子来看了。从今以后只要一看到绿色的桌布，看见一堆堆的纸牌、一摞摞的金钱，放在桌面上，马上就会让我记起来那番景象，床顶篷正在一点一点降落下来把我闷死在床上，在那死寂而漆黑的深夜里。