The Angel's Game Read Online Free PDF Page A

for six evenings only—no further performances. With the guest appearance of Mesmero, the mind reader who will reveal your most intimate secrets.”
    Next to the main entrance was a narrow door behind which rose a long staircase with walls painted red. I went up the stairs and stood in front of a large carved oak door adorned with a brass knocker in the shape of a nymph wearing a modest clover leaf over her pubis. I knocked a couple of times and waited, shying away from my reflection in thetinted mirror that covered most of the adjoining wall. I was debating the possibility of hotfooting it out of the place when the door opened and a middle-aged woman, her hair completely white and tied neatly in a bun, smiled at me calmly.
    “You must be Señor David Martín.”
    Nobody had ever called me “señor” in all my life, and the formality caught me by surprise.
    “That’s me.”
    “Please be kind enough to follow me.”
    I followed her down a short corridor that led into a spacious round room, the walls of which were covered in red velvet dimly lit by lamps. The ceiling was formed of an enameled crystal dome from which hung a glass chandelier. Under the chandelier stood a mahogany table holding an enormous gramophone that whispered an operatic aria.
    “Would you like anything to drink, sir?”
    “A glass of water would be very nice, thank you.”
    The lady with the white hair smiled without blinking, her kindly countenance unperturbed.
    “Perhaps the gentleman would rather a glass of champagne? Or a fine sherry?”
    My palate did not go beyond the subtleties of the different vintages of tap water, so I shrugged my shoulders.
    “You choose.”
    The lady nodded without losing her smile and pointed to one of the sumptuous armchairs that were dotted round the room.
    “If you’d care to sit down, sir. Chloé will be with you presently.”
    I thought I was going to choke.
    “Chloé?”
    Ignoring my perplexity, the lady with the white hair disappeared behind a door that I could just make out through a black bead curtain, leaving me alone with my nerves and unmentionable desires. I wandered around the room to cast out the trembling that had taken hold of me. Apart from the faint music and the heartbeat throbbing in my temples, the place was silent. Six corridors led out of the sitting room, each oneflanked by openings that were covered with blue curtains and each corridor leading to a closed white double door. I fell into one of the armchairs, one of those pieces of furniture designed to cradle the backsides of princes and generalissimos with a predilection for coups d’état. Soon the lady with the white hair returned carrying a glass of champagne on a silver tray. I accepted it and saw her disappear once again through the same door. I gulped down the champagne and loosened my shirt collar. I was starting to suspect that perhaps all this was just a joke devised by Vidal to make fun of me. At that moment I noticed a figure advancing toward me down one of the corridors. It looked like a little girl. She was walking with her head down, so that I couldn’t see her eyes. I stood up.
    …
    The girl made a respectful curtsy and beckoned me to follow her. Only then did I realize that one of her hands was fake, like the hand of a mannequin. The girl led me to the end of the corridor, opened the door with a key that hung round her neck, and showed me in. The room was in almost complete darkness. I took a few steps, straining my eyes. Then I heard the door closing behind me and when I turned round, the girl had vanished. Hearing the key turn, I knew I had been locked in. For almost a minute I stood there without moving. My eyes slowly grew used to the darkness and the outline of the room materialized around me. It was lined from floor to ceiling with black cloth. On one side I could just about make out a number of strange contraptions—I couldn’t decide whether they looked sinister or tempting. A large round bed rested beneath a