was a horrible thought that this man, who on entering the room had believed himself to be the master of millions, should have been plunged back into poverty by a few words.
Kecskerey alone had no pity for him. He never pitied any one who was unfortunate; he reserved all his sympathy for the prosperous.
"Then there's nothing more to be done," murmured Abellino, between his teeth, "unless it be to kill myself or that woman."
Kecskerey's strident rasping voice seemed to cut clean through that desperate murmur.
"If you want to kill or be killed, my friend, I should advise you to read Pitaval,[11] wherein you will find all sorts and kinds of tips for murderers, including lists of poisons both vegetable and mineral, a liberal choice of weapons of every description, and the best means of disposing of the corpus delecti afterwards, either by submersion, combustion, dissection, or inhumation. The whole twelve volumes is a little library of itself, and a man who reads it patiently through to the end will easily persuade himself that he is a born murderer. I recommend the matter to your attention. Ho, ho, ho!"
[11] The allusion, no doubt, is to F. G. de Pitaval's "Causes célèbres et intéressantes."—Tr.
To all this Abellino paid no attention. "Who can be this woman's lover?" said he.
"Look around you, my friend, and choose for yourself."
"At least I should like to recognize and kill him."
"I am absolutely sure I know who her lover is," remarked Kecskerey.