“Therefore I proposed to myself to very quietly walk into the dark room which troubled me, and (without a light) look out of the windows, and slowly return.”
“I shouldn’t have liked the office myself,” ejaculated Peace. “You may well call it a romance.”
“As for the matter of that, I confess it sounds like one,” returned Mr. Harker, “and I assure you every word I am saying is strictly correct. Romance and reality are much more intimately interwoven together than people generally suppose.”
“You are quite right there, sir,” cried one of the cardplayers, who had been listening so attentively to the narrative that he revoked.
Mr. Harker continued—
“I went. The very first step beyond the threshold dispelled my fears. I could see the glimmer of the stars through the glass, hear the rattle of the cabs outside. Why, it was quite a cheerful place, after all.
“Ha! there was a shuffling noise there by the closet! and then my fears returned and overpowered me. I strove to walk out like a tragedy hero; but my pace quickened as I neared the door and heard the shuffling noise close to me. The next moment a powerful hand was at my throat, and I lay helpless on the floor with the cold muzzle of a pistol to my head.
“I was bound, and dragged into the outer office, thrust into my chair, and confronted by two quiet-looking men, one of whom laid his revolver on the table, saying at the same time, with an ugly sneer—
“‘So, Brunton, we have caught you at last.’
“The speaker was a mild, intelligent looking man of about thirty-five. In a proper dress he would have looked like a High Church clergyman.