from the very highest quarters, where there would be no thought of suspicion. He

mentioned the name of a woman—Julia Czechenyi—as having something to do with the

danger. She would be the decoy, I gathered, to get Karolides out of the care of

his guards. He talked, too, about a Black Stone and a man that lisped in his

speech, and he described very particularly somebody that he never referred to

without a shudder—an old man with a young voice who could hood his eyes like a

hawk.

 

He spoke a good deal about death, too. He was mortally anxious about winning

through with his job, but he didn’t care a rush for his life.

 

“I reckon it’s like going to sleep when you are pretty well tired out, and

waking to find a summer day with the scent of hay coming in at the window. I

used to thank God for such mornings way back in the Blue-Grass country, and I

guess I’ll thank Him when I wake up on the other side of Jordan.”

 

Next day he was much more cheerful, and read the life of Stonewall Jackson much

of the time. I went out to dinner with a mining engineer I had got to see on

business, and came back about half-past ten in time for our game of chess before

turning in.

 

I had a cigar in my mouth, I remember, as I pushed open the smoking-room door.

The lights were not lit, which struck me as odd. I wondered if Scudder had

turned in already.