in the afternoon, lying upon the bed, I could see through the foot—which is of brass—the box. Now, feeling with my fingers in the dark, I find the place through which I saw the box. I put the pistol through it. The last time I fire! And now I know I hit him! But no noise; no cry—only the rising of the cover of the box!
"I toss all care of myself away! I fling myself upon him; I grope; but I feel nothing—nothing but that the box is already open and empty! The emerald—the great Surakarta—it is gone! I rush back to the door so he may not get out. It is still locked and bolted. He has not escaped. Entirely reckless, I turn on the light; but—he is not there! He has disappeared! The door behind me is bolted and locked. Those other doors before the clothes-closet and before the
