I linked his arm within my own, and, thanking Doctor Castleton for his
kindness, piloted the way to my room.




The FIFTH Chapter


On opening the door of my sitting-room, I found Arthur, the factotum,
sitting in my large easy-chair, with one of my volumes of Poe in his
hand. He had overheard part of the conversation of the preceding
evening, and was evidently interested in "The Narrative of A. Gordon
Pym." I observed also that a bottle of cognac which sat upon my table,
and which I could have sworn was not more than one-fourth emptied when I
left the hotel directly after dinner, was now quite empty. The
atmosphere of the room was pervaded with the odor of "dead" brandy; and
Arthur's eyes were unusually glassy and staring--for so early an hour as
5 P.M. Then he settled the matter, beyond the shadow of a doubt, with a
hiccough.

"Well, Arthur," I said, pleasantly, as he clumsily rose in part from his
seat--into which he dropped back, however, as he heard my kindly tone of
address, and knew there was to be no severity of reckoning--"well, my
boy; been enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, in a fairly steady voice--the words that
followed, however, being rhythmically interrupted by an aldermanic and
most vociferous hiccough, which shall be omitted from this record--"been
reading about Pym and Barnard. Wasn't that awful when they saw the