And--twisted and contorted,--something lay there; something
hideously battered, and torn, and trampled; something that now lay
so very quiet and still, but which had left dark splashes and stains
on walls and flooring; something that yet clutched the knife which
was to have hamstrung and ended the career of Four-legs once and for
all; something that had once been a man.
CHAPTER XLIX
WHICH, BEING SOMEWHAT IMPORTANT, IS CONSEQUENTLY SHORT
"My dear fellow," said the Viscount, stifling a yawn beneath the
bedclothes, "you rise with the lark,--or should it be linnet? Anyhow,
you do, you know. So deuced early!"
"I am here early because I haven't been to bed, Dick."
"Ah, night mail? Dev'lish uncomfortable! Didn't think you'd come back
in such a deuce of a hurry, though!"
"But you wanted to see me, Dick, what is it?"
"Why,--egad, Bev, I'm afraid it's nothing much, after all.
It's that fellow Smivvle's fault, really."
"Smivvle?"
"Fellow actually called here yesterday--twice, Bev. Dev'lish
importunate fellow y'know. Wanted to see you,--deuced insistent
about it, too!"
"Why?"
"Well, from what I could make out, he seemed to think--sounds
ridiculous so early in the morning,--but he seemed to fancy you were
in some kind of--danger, Bev.
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