At the head of the staircase my friend, the _attache,_ met me.
"What! going away already?" Said he.
"Yes; and on a very curious expedition. I am going to Monkton's
rooms, by his own invitation."
"You don't mean it! Upon my honor, you're a bold fellow to trust
yourself alone with 'Mad Monkton' when the moon is at the full."
"He is ill, poor fellow. Besides, I don't think him half as mad
as you do."
"We won't dispute about that; but mark my words, he has not asked
you to go where no visitor has ever been admitted before without
a special purpose. I predict that you will see or hear something
to-night which you will remember for the rest of your life."
We parted. When I knocked at the courtyard gate of the house
where Monkton lived, my friend's last words on the palace
staircase recurred to me, and, though I had laughed at him when
he spoke them, I began to suspect even then that his prediction
would be fulfilled.
CHAPTER III.
THE porter who let me into the house where Monkton lived directed
me to the floor on which his rooms were situated. On getting
upstairs, I found his door on the landing ajar. He heard my
footsteps, I suppose, for he called to me to come in before I
could knock.
I entered, and found him sitting by the table, with some loose
letters in his hand, which he was just tying together into a
packet.
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