I daresay she was.
It don't matter much, now she's dead, anyway.' 'She paid for it, poor girl,' answered Logotheti very deliberately.
'They say she was murdered.' The change in Feist's face was now unmistakable.

There was a drawing down of the corners of the mouth, and a lowering of the lids that meant something, and the unhealthy complexion took a greyish shade.
Logotheti was too wise to watch his intended victim, and leaned back in a careless attitude, gazing out of the window at the bright creeper on the opposite wall.
'I've heard it suggested,' said Mr.Feist rather thickly, out of a perfect storm of drugged smoke.
It came out of his ugly nostrils, it blew out of his mouth, it seemed to issue even from his ears and eyes.
'I suppose we shall never know the truth,' said Logotheti in an idle tone, and not seeming to look at his companion.

'Mr.Griggs--do you remember Mr.Griggs, the author, at the Turkish Embassy, where we first met?
Tall old fellow, sad-looking, bony, hard; you remember him, don't you ?' 'Why, yes,' drawled Feist, emitting more smoke, 'I know him quite well.' 'He found blood on his hands after he had carried her.

Had you not heard that?
I wondered whether you saw her that evening.

Did you ?' 'I saw her from a distance in the box with her friends,' answered Feist steadily.
'Did you see her afterwards ?' The direct question came suddenly, and the strained look in Feist's face became more intense.