The key must be the key of my own door. Jakoub must intend to steal the poison from my room, or at least as much of it as he regarded as his share—his and Van Ermengen’s.
From what I knew of its value I realised that a few cases of it would recompense him.
And the attempt was to be made to-night.
My dread of the man almost overcame me. I longed to leave the place, to escape, and let him do as he would. I do not think it was fear of any violence he might attempt against myself.
I have not tried to tell what the loss of my faith in Edmund meant to me. But I do know that I would have surrendered my life then without regret. Yet I shrank from the idea of conflict with this man. I mistrusted myself and my own will. It was exactly the same feeling I had had before my first fight at school. I was then not frightened of being hurt. But I was sick with the terror of finding myself a coward and showing it.
However, I determined I would not desert my trust.
I got out Edmund’s revolver, laid it on the table, and sat down by it to wait.
The night was hot and it was late before I heard the voices and the closing doors of other occupants of the hotel retiring. Had there been an Englishman among them I believe I should have appealed to him to share my vigil.
But they were all foreigners. I had heard nothing spoken but Italian and a language I took to be Greek. I could speak neither. To explain would be impossible.
A clock somewhere struck one, and suddenly the strain became intolerable. I reflected that they would not come at all while my light was on, and like a kind of vertigo came the desire to get the encounter over. It was the same longing that one has to throw one’s self down from a height. But could I endure the waiting in the dark?