I smiled — for what had I to fear? The cry, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I said, was not in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I told them to search — search well. I led them, at length, to his room. I brought chairs there, and told them to rest. I placed my own seat upon the very place under which lay the body of the victim. The officers were satisfied. I was completely at ease. They sat, and while I answered happily, they talked of common things. But, after a while, I felt myself getting weak and wished them gone. My head hurt, and I had a ringing in my ears; but still they sat and talked. The ringing became more severe. I talked more freely to do away with the feeling. But it continued until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears. I talked more and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased — and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound like a watch makes when inside a piece of cotton. I had trouble breathing — and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly — more loudly; but the noise increased. I stood up and argued about silly things, in a high voice and with violent hand movements. But the noise kept increasing. Why would they not be gone? I walked across the floor with heavy steps, as if excited to anger by the observations of the men — but the noise increased. What could I do? I swung my chair and moved it upon the floor, but the noise continually increased. It grew louder — louder — louder! And still the men talked pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? No, no! They heard! They suspected! They knew! They were making a joke of my horror! This I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this pain! I could bear those smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! And now — again! Louder! Louder! Louder! "Villains!" I cried, "Pretend no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the floor boards! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!"