Upon one thing he was resolved: he would say nothing about Pabasca’s overtures to himself, for that might lead to unimaginable misery for all of them. Nevertheless, it tortured him to keep any of these things secret, but he knew not a soul to whom he could unburden his mind.
On the evening of the fourth day Cesiphos slipped unseen from the house and went to the station to meet his master. It was a cool evening with a feeling of largeness in the air, but Cesiphos was weighed down with anxiety and nervousness. How much should he tell? In what manner should he tell it? Should he break straight into the subject, or should he introduce it in a roundabout fashion?
These questions which he had been asking himself for four days were still unanswered when he saw Marania, carrying two very large parcels, step from the train. Cesiphos hurried up to him, and Marania placed both parcels on the ground whilst he shook hands with his servant. He was in good spirits and glad to be home again. Cesiphos, having picked up one of the parcels, led the way from the station, his chin upon his breast, his heart heavy within him.
They had covered but a short distance when Cesiphos plucked his master’s sleeve and indicated that he wished to speak with him. With a sigh of impatience, Marania put his package on the ground and sat upon it. Cesiphos followed his example, and began to talk on his fingers by the light of the moon.
“Master, I have something I would tell you.”
Marania bowed his head.
“Very late in the night following the day you left, Sobraji entered your house. He had a key, the door was unbolted.”
He stopped, hoping his master would say something; but Marania only stared at him wonderingly and again bowed his head.
“I was waiting for him....”
Marania interrupted his servant by placing a hand upon his arm.