During this brief conversation all Hugo's suspicions had hurriedly
returned, and he had examined them anew and more favourably. Polycarp?
Was it not curious that Polycarp should be acting for both Ravengar and
Tudor?... Darcy? Were there not very strange features in the behaviour
of this English doctor who preferred to practise in Paris?... And the
haemorrhage? And, lastly, this monstrous, unaccountable, inexplicable
shutting-up of the flat?
He felt already that those empty rooms, dark, silent, sealed, guarding
in some recess he knew not what dreadful secret, were getting on his
nerves. And was he to suffer for a year?
'Come, Mr. Hugo,' said Polycarp; 'I may count on your goodwill?'
'I don't know,' Hugo replied--'I don't know.'
PART II THE PHONOGRAPH
CHAPTER XI
SALE
Strange sights are to be seen in London.
At five minutes to nine a.m. on the first day of the year seven vast
crowds stood before the seven principal entrances to Hugo's; seven
crowds of immortal souls enclosed in the bodies of women. They meant to
begin the year well by an honest attempt to get something for nothing.
It was a cold, dank, raw, and formidable morning; Hugo's tessellated
pavements were covered with moisture, and, moreover, day had not yet
conquered night.
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