but it did not. Below the neck Mr. Mirrikh’s body was almost as white as my own.
Of course the face had been carefully examined first of all. It was half covered with the black cloth mask, just as he liked to keep it, and so cold that at first the Doctor declared that the flesh was frozen, then in a minute changing round and being just as positive that it was not; and we all fell to wondering why it was not, and I can only add that I am wondering still.
Now Philpot’s medical skill came in play beautifully.
“He’s as dead as a smelt,” he exclaimed, after a most careful examination. “There ain’t the slightest doubt about it. What can it mean?”
“Can you distinguish no heart action?” asked Maurice gloomily.
“Not a murmur! Try for yourself.”
Maurice bent over the bared breast and remained with his ear down for fully five minutes, during which time the Doctor was holding his pocket mirror to the lips, trying at the same time to find the pulse, although he had done all this before..
Dead!
Such was the final verdict.
My friend Mirrikh lay a corpse; thrown at our feet, as one might say, in derision of our stupendous folly.
Could we hope to play Hamlet without Hamlet?
Decidedly this was the last act in the drama, just as the Doctor had said. At least that is what I thought when finally, sometime after midnight, I stretched myself out upon the k’ang to try and obtain a little sleep before morning came; for, after a long discussion, we had decided to turn our mules’ noses back in the direction of Bootan with the rising of to-morrow’s sun.
Maurice was asleep already. He had dropped off just as soon as he lay down—something very unusual for him.
Ditto the Doctor; but he always kept one eye open, was continually rousing up, putting a pinch of tobacco into his pipe and puffing vigorously, until the next one knew, with the pipe within easy reach of his hand he would be snoring again.
Ah Schow was asleep too, but then the faithful Celestial never lost an opportunity for slumber.
Why could not I sleep like the rest?
