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1There was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of some one choking with blood. Three times the outstretched arms shot
2up convulsively, waving grotesque, stiff-fingered hands in the air. He stabbed him twice more, but the man did not move.
3Something began to trickle on the floor. He waited for a moment, still pressing the head down. Then he threw the knife
4on the table, and listened. He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet. He opened the door and
5went out on the landing. The house was absolutely quiet. No one was about. For a few seconds he stood bending over the
6balustrade and peering down into the black seething well of darkness. Then he took out the key and returned to the room,
7locking himself in as he did so. The thing was still seated in the chair, straining over the table with bowed head, and
8humped back, and long fantastic arms. Had it not been for the red jagged tear in the neck and the clotted black pool
9that was slowly widening on the table, one would have said that the man was simply asleep. How quickly it had all been
10done! He felt strangely calm, and walking over to the window, opened it and stepped out on the balcony. The wind had
11blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock's tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes. He looked down
12and saw the policeman going his rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on the doors of the silent houses. The
13crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner and then vanished. A woman in a fluttering shawl was creeping
14slowly by the railings, staggering as she went. Now and then she stopped and peered back. Once, she began to sing in a
15hoarse voice. The policeman strolled over and said something to her. She stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast swept
16across the square. The gas-lamps flickered and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their black iron branches to
17and fro. He shivered and went back, closing the window behind him. Having reached the door, he turned the key and opened
18it. He did not even glance at the murdered man. He felt that the secret of the whole thing was not to realize the
19situation. The friend who had painted the fatal portrait to which all his misery had been due had gone out of his life.
20That was enough. Then he remembered the lamp. It was a rather curious one of Moorish workmanship, made of dull silver
21inlaid with arabesques of burnished steel, and studded with coarse turquoises. Perhaps it might be missed by his
22servant, and questions would be asked. He hesitated for a moment, then he turned back and took it from the table. He
23could not help seeing the dead thing. How still it was! How horribly white the long hands looked! It was like a dreadful
24wax image. Having locked the door behind him, he crept quietly downstairs. The woodwork creaked and seemed to cry out as
25if in pain. He stopped several times and waited. No: everything was still. It was merely the sound of his own footsteps.
26When he reached the library, he saw the bag and coat in the corner. They must be hidden away somewhere. He unlocked a
27secret press that was in the wainscoting, a press in which he kept his own curious disguises, and put them into it. He
28could easily burn them afterwards. Then he pulled out his watch. It was twenty minutes to two. He sat down and began to
29think. Every year--every month, almost--men were strangled in England for what he had done. There had been a madness of
30murder in the air. Some red star had come too close to the earth.... And yet, what evidence was there against him? Basil
31Hallward had left the house at eleven. No one had seen him come in again. Most of the servants were at Selby Royal. His
32valet had gone to bed.... Paris! Yes. It was to Paris that Basil had gone, and by the midnight train, as he had
33intended. With his curious reserved habits, it would be months before any suspicions would be roused. Months! Everything
34could be destroyed long before then. A sudden thought struck him. He put on his fur coat and hat and went out into the
35hall. There he paused, hearing the slow heavy tread of the policeman on the pavement outside and seeing the flash of the
36bull's-eye reflected in the window. He waited and held his breath. After a few moments he drew back the latch and
37slipped out, shutting the door very gently behind him. Then he began ringing the bell. In about five minutes his valet
38appeared, half-dressed and looking very drowsy. "I am sorry to have had to wake you up, Francis," he said, stepping in;
39"but I had forgotten my latch-key. What time is it?" "Ten minutes past two, sir," answered the man, looking at the clock
40and blinking. "Ten minutes past two? How horribly late! You must wake me at nine to-morrow. I have some work to do."
41"All right, sir." "Did any one call this evening?" "Mr. Hallward, sir. He stayed here till eleven, and then he went away
42to catch his train." "Oh! I am sorry I didn't see him. Did he leave any message?" "No, sir, except that he would write
43to you from Paris, if he did not find you at the club." "That will do, Francis. Don't forget to call me at nine
44to-morrow." "No, sir." The man shambled down the passage in his slippers. Dorian Gray threw his hat and coat upon the
45table and passed into the library. For a quarter of an hour he walked up and down the room, biting his lip and thinking.
46Then he took down the Blue Book from one of the shelves and began to turn over the leaves. "Alan Campbell, 152, Hertford
47Street, Mayfair." Yes; that was the man he wanted.
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