The adventures of that memorable night laid me low for many a day to come, and Edwards himself suffered a good deal from the shock of having been, as he supposed, the cause of Shustri's death. I argued with him that no blame whatever could possibly attach to him, since the ruffian was evidently up to no good.
"There I am convinced that you are right," said Edwards; "for the Consul-General picked up, just outside his study door, the most diabolical looking knife you ever saw."
"Did he?" said I. "Then I expect he meant business."
"I suppose," said Edwards, after a long silence, "that you are too matter of fact to believe in presentiments."
"I do not know," I replied. "They have never bothered me much. But why do you ask?"
"Well," said my friend, "I will confess to you, in strict confidence, that when you were brought in here that day, by your weird old Sinbad, and I took the Golden Girdle from your waist, I felt a most extraordinary sensation all over me. I cannot explain what it was like, except that it was very similar to the feeling that I have when a cat is anywhere near, about which you always laugh at me."
"My dear George," said I, "I would not dream of laughing at you. But go on."
"The curious thing about it," said he, "was that I felt all right directly the Consul-General locked up the Girdle. But I positively dreaded seeing the thing again. It haunted me day and night, but I did not like to mention my fears to anyone."
"At any rate," said I, "you did not conceal them very well. I noticed that you looked blue whenever I suggested having a peep at my Girdle. Poor chap, I wish I had known that you had got it so badly. How do you feel now?"
"Since last night," said he, "I have become a different being, but I felt pretty ill when the Consul-General unlocked the safe."