Very likely they will not know until the valet goes to lay out his clothes for dinner....

Dead!" Selingman, with one hand gripping the iron arm of the seat, watched his companion's face with a sort of fascinated curiosity.

There were beads of perspiration upon Draconmeyer's forehead, but his expression, in its way, was curious.

There was no horror in his face, no fear, no shadow of remorse.

Some wholly different sentiment seemed to have transformed the man.