The wind was but a distant murmur now, but the weight was crushing him. Only a few more moments and his heart would burst. At last!
The dark thing huddled on the hearth-rug, which the girl found when she came down in the morning, was the scholar's body.
The newspaper he had been reading lay upon his chest.
[CHAPTER IV]
A LUNCHEON PARTY
Constantine Schuabe's great room at the Hotel Cecil had been entirely refurnished and arranged for the winter months.
The fur of great Arctic beasts lay upon the heavy Teheran carpets, which had replaced the summer matting—furs of enormous value. The dark red curtains which hung by windows and over doors were worked with threads of dull gold.
All the chairs were more massive in material and upholstered warmly in soft leather; the logs in the fireplace crackled with white flame, amethyst in the glowing cavern beneath.