Then by and by a little reel at the bed and a fall flat on the floor.
Then stertorous breathing.
Cowen sat still at the keyhole some time, then took off his boots and softly mounted his chair, and applied his eye to the peep-hole.
Cutler was lying on his stomach between the table and the bed.
Cowen came to the door on tiptoe and turned the handle gently; the door yielded.
He lost nerve for the first time in his life. What horrible shame, should the man come to his senses and see him!
He stepped back into his own room, ripped up his portmanteau, and took out, from between the leather and the lining, a disguise and a mask. He put them on.
Then he took his loaded cane; for he thought to himself, "No more stabbing in that room," and he crept through the door like a cat.
The man lay breathing stertorously, and his lips blowing out at every exhalation like lifeless lips urged by a strong wind, so that Cowen began to fear, not that he might wake, but that he might die.
It flashed across him he should have to leave England.