"Neither did I sleep," he added slowly, "but our good Minglapo slept."
Nifton Bend touched his hand, led the way to the second floor, and entered there an apartment that was like a throne-room. In the centre was a huge canopied couch. Romney's eye sought the heart of this even before the lifted finger of the Hunchback directed.... The knees of the occupant were drawn up against the abdomen—this fact obvious before the cover was pulled back. The great face had taken on its ultimate gray and yellow; the wide mouth that had laughed so wonderfully was twisted in torture. Romney did not look far enough to ascertain the means of death.
"Fat men sleep so soundly," repeated Nifton Bend.
"But Ti Kung could not have been caught sleeping. I reached the hotel between eleven and twelve last night, and sent up word of arrival. He must have been in the room then—the thing already done."
The objects in the great room were lost for the moment in a brown mist before Romney's eyes. Then he saw that the wolf-hound head of the Hunchback was close to his own breast—the face turned up to his own face. His arm went around the low shoulder.
"The spirit of the little spy will rest easier," he whispered.
"You mean—"
"I was expecting this word from the Nestor. I expected them to find him—like our master here. As for me, I did not sleep—"
"That was my trouble last night," Romney said.
"They may not have wanted you."