Again, I deliberated about
casting it into the well in the yard--about packing it in a box, as if
merchandise, with the usual arrangements, and so getting a porter to
take it from the house. Finally I hit upon what I considered a far
better expedient than either of these. I determined to wall it up in the
cellar--as the monks of the middle ages are recorded to have walled up
their victims. For a purpose such as this the cellar was well adapted. Its walls were
loosely constructed, and had lately been plastered throughout with a
rough plaster, which the dampness of the atmosphere had prevented from
hardening. Moreover, in one of the walls was a projection, caused by a
false chimney, or fireplace, that had been filled up, and made to
resemble the rest of the cellar. I made no doubt that I could readily
displace the bricks at this point, insert the corpse, and wall the whole
up as before, so that no eye could detect anything suspicious. And in this calculation I was not deceived. By means of a crowbar I
easily dislodged the bricks, and, having carefully deposited the body
against the inner wall, I propped it in that position, while, with
little trouble, I relaid the whole structure as it originally stood. Having

[Illustration: “_An extraordinary cat._”]

procured mortar, sand and hair with every possible precaution, I
prepared a plaster which could not be distinguished from the old, and
with this I very carefully went over the new brickwork. When I had
finished I felt satisfied that all was right. The wall did not present
the slightest appearance of having been disturbed. The rubbish on the
floor was picked up with the minutest care. I looked around triumphantly
and said to myself, “Here, at least, then, my labor has not been in
vain.”

My next step was to look for the beast which had been the cause of so
much wretchedness, for I had at length firmly resolved to put it to
death. Had I been able to meet with it at the moment there could have
been no doubt of its fate; but it appeared that the crafty animal had
been alarmed at the violence of my previous anger and forebore to
present itself in my present mood. It is impossible to describe or to
imagine the deep, the blissful sense of relief which the absence of the
detested creature occasioned in my bosom. It did not make its appearance
during the night--and thus, for one night at least since its
introduction into the house, I soundly and tranquilly slept--aye, slept,
even with the burden of murder upon my soul! The second and the third day passed, and still my tormentor came not. Once again I breathed as a free man. The monster, in terror, had fled
the premises forever! I should behold it no more! My happiness was
supreme! The guilt of my dark deed disturbed me but little. Some few
inquiries had been made, but these had been readily answered. Even a
search had been instituted--but, of course, nothing was to be
discovered. I looked upon my future felicity as secured. Upon the fourth day of the assassination a party of the police came very
unexpectedly into the house and proceeded again to make a rigorous
investigation of the premises. Secure, however, in the inscrutability of
my place of concealment, I felt no embarrassment whatever. The officers
bade me accompany them in their search. They left no nook or corner
unexplored. At length, for the third or fourth time, they descended into
the cellar. I quivered not in a muscle. My heart beat as calmly as that
of one who slumbers in innocence. I walked the cellar from end to end. I
folded my arms upon my bosom and roamed easily to and fro. The police
were thoroughly satisfied and prepared to depart. The glee at my heart
was too strong to be restrained. I burned to say but one word, by way of
triumph, and to render doubly sure their assurance of my guiltlessness. “Gentlemen,” I said at last, as the party ascended the steps, “I delight
to have allayed your suspicions. I wish you all health and a little
more courtesy. By the by, gentlemen, this--this is a very well
constructed house.” (In the rabid desire to say something easily I
scarcely knew what I uttered at all.) “I may say an excellently well
constructed house. These walls--are you going, gentlemen?--these walls
are solidly put together;” and here, through the mere frenzy of bravado,
I rapped heavily, with a cane which I held in my hand, upon that very
portion of the brickwork behind which stood the corpse of the wife of my
bosom. But may God shield and deliver me from the fangs of the Arch Fiend! No
sooner had the reverberation of my blows sunk into silence than I was
answered by a voice from within the tomb!--by a cry, at first muffled
and broken, like the sobbing of a child, and then quickly swelling into
one long, loud and continuous scream, utterly anomalous and inhuman--a
howl!--a wailing shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, such as
might have arisen only out of hell, conjointly from the throats of the
damned in their agony and of the demons that exult in the damnation. Of my own thoughts it is folly to speak. Swooning, I staggered to the
opposite wall. For an instant the party upon the stairs remained
motionless, through extremity of terror and of awe. In the next a dozen
stout arms were toiling at the wall. It fell bodily. The corpse, already
getting decayed and clotted with gore, stood erect before the eyes of
the spectators. Upon its head, with red, extended mouth and solitary eye
of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced me into murder,
and whose informing voice had consigned me to the hangman. I had walled
the monster up within the tomb! THE FLAYED HAND. BY GUY DE MAUPASSANT. One evening about eight months ago I met with some college comrades at
the lodgings of our friend Louis R. We drank punch and smoked, talked of
literature and art, and made jokes like any other company of young men. Suddenly the door flew open, and one who had been my friend since
boyhood burst in like a hurricane. “Guess where I come from?” he cried. “I bet on the Mabille,” responded one. “No,” said another, “you are too
gay; you come from borrowing money, from burying a rich uncle, or from
pawning your watch.” “You are getting sober,” cried a third, “and, as
you scented the punch in Louis’ room, you came up here to get drunk
again.”

“You are all wrong,” he replied. “I come from P., in Normandy, where I
have spent eight days, and whence I have brought one of my friends, a
great criminal, whom I ask permission to present to you.”

With these words he drew from his pocket a long, black hand, from which
the skin had been stripped. It had been severed at the wrist. Its dry
and shriveled shape, and the narrow, yellowed nails still clinging to
the fingers, made it frightful to look upon. The muscles, which showed
that its first owner had been possessed of great strength, were bound in
place by a strip of parchment-like skin.