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Locke, William John, 1863-1930

"Simon the Jester"

The dwarf
dropped off and rolled backwards, revealing something black sticking out
of Vauvenarde's frock-coat--for the second I could not realise what it
was. Then Vauvenarde, with a ghastly face, reeled sideways and collapsed
in a heap on the ground.

CHAPTER XV
Of what happened immediately afterwards I have but a confused memory. I
remember that Lola and I both fell on our knees beside the stabbed man,
and I remember his horrible staring eyes and open mouth. I remember
that, though she was white and shaky, she neither shrieked, went into
hysterics, nor fainted. I remember rushing down to the manager; I
remember running with him breathlessly through obscure passages of
the hotel in search of a doctor who was attending a sick member of the
staff. I remember the rush back, the doctor bending over the body, which
Lola had partially unclothed, and saying:
"He is dead. The blade has gone straight through his heart."
And I have in my mind the unforgettable and awful picture of Anastasius
Papadopoulos disregarded in a corner of the room, with his absurd silk
hat on--some reflex impulse had caused him to pick it up and put it on
his head--sitting on the floor amid a welter of documents relating to
the death of the horse Sultan, one of which he was eagerly perusing.


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