The karait stored
his poison for me only. I killed only one of the race, and him I stabbed
with a Ko-Katana of my own house."
Holden left the room to send a messenger post-haste for the village
doctor.
"About Capella?" persisted Brett.
"Ah, Capella. He sought his own death. He looked at me so oddly that I
thought him a spy. I was alone in a carriage when, half-way here, he ran
along the platform at a small station and joined me. He began to question
me. I looked out of the window and saw that we were coming to a viaduct
over a stream between deep cliffs, so I took the little man and cracked
his neck. Then I flung him over the bridge. It was a mistake. He should
have left me alone."
He described this cold-blooded murder of the unfortunate Italian with the
weary air of one who recites a tedious episode. The lids drooped heavily
over his eyes.
"I am tired," he said. "That was a good little snake. He knew his
business. He could make the best of poison."
"Surely," said the barrister solemnly, "you are not so utterly inhuman
that at the very point of death you still maintain the attitude of a
disappointed avenger. What wrong had all these people done you to demand
your murderous hate?"
Ooma seemed for a moment to rouse himself from lethargy. Once again the
black eyes sparkled with their menacing gleam.
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