Every chamber seemed to be as he wished it, and he readjusted the barrel.
Then he walked to the bureau upon which swung a half-length mirror. His back was thus partially turned to the watcher, and Paul could see dimly the reflection of his face looking somberly toward him. He held the revolver in his right hand, the finger on the trigger, the barrel pointed toward the floor.
Paul was in an agony of doubt and apprehension. What should he do?
How long would Poubalov stand there and allow him to reflect?
Would the spy, then, "get away," and by this manner of exit?
With his left hand Poubalov took his watch from his pocket. He glanced at the face of the busy and faithful little machine, and it was only too evident that he had set the limit of his life at some point that the moving hands would presently reach.
[CHAPTER XXIV.]
THE NEW CLEW.