THE GAME IS UP.
By Sadakichi Hartmann.
"HELLO, Morrison, may I come in?" The door stood slightly ajar.
Morrison came to the door—the complexion of his face was sallow and his eyes had a peculiar look—he recognized his visitor, hesitated for a moment whether he should admit him, then opened the door and made a sort of mock courtesy.
"Cleaning up?" the tall, lean man asked as he entered the little hall room.
"Yes," and a wistful smile glided over Morrison's pale face; "cleaning up for good."
The room had a peculiar appearance. There was no disorder and yet a lot of things were lying about; it looked as if the lodger intended to go away on a long journey and had tried to straighten up matters previous to his departure. The visitor gazed curiously about the room. He had a strange foreboding, but forced himself to ask in a jocular mood: "Going to Egypt again?"
"Farther than that this time, but it won't take so long; the journey I am contemplating will be over by to-morrow evening, I hope."
"What do you mean?"