be an excellent observatory, from where he could easily survey the
street. A waiter asked him what he would have, and he ordered coffee.

He gave this order mechanically, without thinking what he was saying, and
not till afterward did he wonder if it were natural to take coffee at
this hour. The men seated at the other tables drank appetizers or beer.
Had he not made a blunder?

But everything seemed a blunder, as everything seemed dangerous. Could
he not regain his composure and his reason? He drank his coffee slowly;
then he asked for a newspaper. The street was quiet, and people left the
cafe one by one.

Behind his newspaper he reflected. It was his feverish curiosity that
made him admit that Caffie's death would be discovered during the
evening. In reality, it might easily remain undiscovered until the next
day.

But he could not stay in the cafe until the next day, nor even until
midnight. Perhaps he had remained there too long already.

He did not wish to go yet, so he ordered writing materials, and paid the
waiter, in case he might wish to go hastily--if anything occurred.

What should he write? He wished to test himself, and found that he was
able to write clearly, and to select the proper words; but when he came
to read it over, his will failed him.

Time passed. Suddenly there was a movement under the porte-cochere of
"the house," and a man ran through the street. Two or three persons