Chapter XXVI A Pleasant Chat With a Murderer
I awoke so much refreshed and free from pain that I must have slept for many hours. Belleville was pinching my shoulder. His black-visaged face was curiously bilious-looking, and puffy purple hollows underhung his eyes.
"You didn't sleep thus on the banks of the Nile," he muttered, with a sick man's frown. "You were wakeful enough then. One would think you had been drugged."
"Indeed," said I. "But I had need to be wakeful then."
"Who set on the light," he demanded. "I swear I left you in dark. Who has been here?"
"Your Arab," I replied. "He swept out the room and gave me a drink. Then he climbed into the sarcophagus yonder, and unless he went away while I slept, there you'll find him."
The rascal looked perfectly astounded. "My Arab!" he repeated, staring sharply into my eyes. Then of a sudden he turned and simply rushed over to the big lead coffin. Stooping over the edge, he peeped into the interior and seemed to be shifting something with his hands. His back was all I saw, but it moved to and fro, and he strained on tiptoe. When he stood up his face was scarlet and his eyes were troubled. "Swept the room, you said, and gave you a drink?" he muttered half to himself. With that he took to examining the floor, crawling on hands and knees. His peregrinations took him behind me, and what he did there or found there I do not know; but he rapped out an oath and I heard him pacing up and down, swearing in an angry undertone. So five minutes passed, then he stalked into my view and showed me a very troubled and a very angry countenance.
"You asked my Arab for a drink?" he cried.