"Listen, Daspry, I have had enough of this. You can stay if it interests you. But I am going."
Was that simply the expression of my excited nerves? Or was it the result of a laborious task executed under a burning sun? I know that I trembled as I walked away, and that I went to bed, where I remained forty–eight hours, restless and feverish, haunted by skeletons that danced around me and threw their bleeding hearts at my head.
Daspry was faithful to me. He came to my house every day, and remained three or four hours, which he spent in the large room, ferreting, thumping, tapping.
"The letters are here, in this room," he said, from time to time, "they are here. I will stake my life on it."
On the morning of the third day I arose—feeble yet, but cured. A substantial breakfast cheered me u
