THE LADY OF THE BARGE

AND OTHER STORIES

By W. W. Jacobs




IN THE LIBRARY


The fire had burnt low in the library, for the night was wet and warm.
It was now little more than a grey shell, and looked desolate. Trayton
Burleigh, still hot, rose from his armchair, and turning out one of the
gas-jets, took a cigar from a box on a side-table and resumed his seat
again.

The apartment, which was on the third floor at the back of the house, was
a combination of library, study, and smoke-room, and was the daily
despair of the old housekeeper who, with the assistance of one servant,
managed the house. It was a bachelor establishment, and had been left to
Trayton Burleigh and James Fletcher by a distant connection of both men
some ten years before.

Trayton Burleigh sat back in his chair watching the smoke of his cigar
through half-closed eyes. Occasionally he opened them a little wider and
glanced round the comfortable, well-furnished room, or stared with a cold
gleam of hatred at Fletcher as he sat sucking stolidly at his brier pipe.
It was a comfortable room and a valuable house, half of which belonged to