“My son was not there.”
“Well?”
“Well, you can guess the rest. Not one person remains alive of that devil’s household.”
Madam Marx gasped at the magnitude of the crime, and though her terrors increased, her pride in the man capable of so tremendous revenge increased also.
“What will happen to you?” she found voice to ask.
“Nothing. I must hide here. We were not seen. Besides, you remember the last time a Greek murdered a Jew—it was at Port Said—the matter was hushed up. Our consuls care as little for Jews as we do. My God, how glad I am I killed him!”
His eyes were fixed on the street as he spoke, and suddenly he started to his feet. Madam rose too, and clung to him. He pushed her roughly on one side, while an evil smile played on his lips.
“By God, she shall come back now!”
“Who?”
“Xantippe. There is no need for her to live with the Englishman now. Our son is dead and the Jew in hell. I will at least have my wife back.”