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order "during the ceremony of disinterring the treasure."
After some vociferation, quiet was at length fully restored, and, as
very often happens in similar cases, a profound and remarkable silence
ensued. Being then requested to force open the lid, I complied, of
course, "with an infinite deal of pleasure." I inserted a chisel, and
giving it a few slight taps with a hammer, the top of the box flew
suddenly off, and at the same instant, there sprang up into a sitting
position, directly facing the host, the bruised, bloody, and nearly
putrid corpse of the murdered Mr. Shuttleworthy himself. It gazed for a
few seconds, fixedly and sorrowfully, with its decaying and lack-lustre
eyes, full into the countenance of Mr. Goodfellow; uttered slowly,
but clearly and impressively, the words--"Thou art the man!" and then,
falling over the side of the chest as if thoroughly satisfied, stretched
out its limbs quiveringly upon the table.
The scene that ensued is altogether beyond description. The rush for the
doors and windows was terrific, and many of the most robust men in the
room fainted outright through sheer horror. But after the first wild,
shrieking burst of affright, all eyes were directed to Mr. Goodfellow.
If I live a thousand years, I can never forget the more than mortal
agony which was depicted in that ghastly face of his, so lately rubicund
with triumph and wine. For several minutes he sat rigidly as a statue
of marble; his eyes seeming, in the intense vacancy of their gaze, to
be turned inward and absorbed in the contemplation of his own miserable,
murderous soul. At length their expression appeared to flash suddenly
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