My name is ALBERT CHARLES. I have a curious old friend who lives at
Strasburg, called OUTHOUSE. I am CHARLES, his friend. I wrote to
OUTHOUSE and told him Miss LUKINGLASSE'S story--of course, in
unscientific language. He replied, it was deeply interesting, and he
would come to me at once. He arrived, and immediately performed the old
"drop of ink trick," where, it will be remembered, a chap is made to
describe what he sees in a little writing-fluid.
Then OUTHOUSE turned to me with a strangely solemn face.
"We have got our finger," said he, "on the tarantula in his hole, the
viper in his lair, the _pieuvre_ in his cave. Such monsters should not
be allowed to live."
I was bewildered. We made our way from Newhaven to Chislehurst. We
called upon the old man with the opal, of whom we had so often talked.
He trembled. OUTHOUSE seemed to swell to twice his natural height. Then
the old chap with the opal appeared to wither under his gaze. Then he
changed to all manner of colours, and literally exploded. He went off
with a feeble bang, like a cheap firework. Not waiting to pick up his
pieces, we returned to Dieppe, collared the omnibus old woman (whom we
found on the point of strangling ASCENA), and got her sent to prison,
where she very properly committed suicide to save us further
embarrassment. After these preliminaries had been successfully
accomplished, I am pleased to say that ASCENA enjoyed peaceful dreams
and sweet repose.
There now! I have cleared up things pretty well, and don't think it bad
for a first attempt.