And every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door and opened it—oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head.
I kept quite still and said nothing.
In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him.
....shrieked once—once only.
The officers were satisfied...my manner had convinced them.
We heard a shriek.
This guy can't be a murder he's to nice
The shriek was my own in a dream.
I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men—but the noise steadily increased.
Almighty God!— no, no! They heard!—they suspected!—they knew! —they were making a mockery of my horror!—this I thought, and this I think.
I felt that I must scream or die!—and now—again— hark! louder! louder! louder! louder! —
“Villains!” I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the deed!— tear up the planks!—here, here!—it is the beating of his hideous heart!”