tradespeople, so that by the time that I was sixteen I was quite master of the

house. I kept all the keys and could go where I liked and do what I liked, so

long as I did not disturb him in his privacy. There was one singular exception,

however, for he had a single room, a lumber-room up among the attics, which was

invariably locked, and which he would never permit either me or anyone else to

enter. With a boy’s curiosity I have peeped through the keyhole, but I

was never able to see more than such a collection of old trunks and bundles as

would be expected in such a room.


“One day—it was in March, 1883—a letter with a foreign stamp

lay upon the table in front of the colonel’s plate. It was not a common

thing for him to receive letters, for his bills were all paid in ready money,

and he had no friends of any sort. ‘From India!’ said he as he took

it up, ‘Pondicherry postmark! What can this be?’ Opening it

hurriedly, out there jumped five little dried orange pips, which pattered down

upon his plate. I began to laugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips

at the sight of his face. His lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his

skin the colour of putty, and he glared at the envelope which he still held in

his trembling hand, ‘K. K. K.!’ he shrieked, and then, ‘My

God, my God, my sins have overtaken me!’


“‘What is it, uncle?’ I cried.


“‘Death,’ said he, and rising from the table he retired

to his room, leaving me palpitating with horror. I took up the envelope and saw

scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the gum, the letter K three

times repeated. There was nothing else save the five dried pips. What could be

the reason of his overpowering terror? I left the breakfast-table, and as I

ascended the stair I met him coming down with an old rusty key, which must have

belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small brass box, like a cashbox, in

the other.