’Tis Christmas Eve.
In the room where the dead man lay, there was, at that moment, nobody.
CHAPTER IV
Roberto’s Christmas—Northern Folk.
At this same hour Roberto Hasting, wrapped in his overcoat, was on his way to Bernardo Santín’s home. The night was cold; hardly a person was to be seen on the street; the tramcars glided hurriedly over the rails with a gentle drone.
Roberto entered the house, climbed to the top story and knocked. Esther opened the door and he walked in.
“Where’s Bernardo?” asked Roberto.
“He hasn’t appeared all day,” answered the ex-teacher.