Recalling the uncertain gleams which we had seen flashing from one
of the upper windows, I was inclined to give some credence to the
former theory, but was disposed to be fair to both. So after
relighting my lamp, I turned on one of the gas cocks of the massive
chandelier over my head and applied a match. The result was just
what I anticipated; no gas in the pipes. A meter had not been put
in for the wedding. This the papers had repeatedly stated in
dwelling upon the garish effect of the daylight on the elaborate
costumes worn by the ladies. Candles had not even been provided -
ah, candles! What, then, was it that I saw glittering on a small
table at the other end of the room? Surely a candlestick, or
rather an old-fashioned candelabrum with a half-burned candle in
one of its sockets. Hastily crossing to it, I felt of the
candlewick. It was quite stiff and hard. But not considering this
a satisfactory proof that it had not been lately burning - the tip
of a wick soon dries after the flame is blown out - I took out my
penknife and attacked the wick at what might be called its root;
whereupon I found that where the threads had been protected by the
wax they were comparatively soft and penetrable. The conclusion was
obvious. True to my instinct in this matter the woman had not
lifted her weapon in darkness; this candle had been burning.
Pages:
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43