I started back as my eyes fell upon the dead countenance. I was
entirely unprepared for such a revelation. The truth staggered
me.
The victim was the man who had acted as my friend—the Italian
waiter, Olinto.
I advanced and peered into the thin inanimate features, scarce
able to realize the actual fact. But my eyes had not deceived me.
Though death distorts the facial expression of every man, I had no
difficulty in identifying him.
"You recognize him, sir?" remarked the officer. "Who is he? Our
people are very anxious to know, for up to the present moment they
haven't succeeded in establishing his identity."
I bit my lips. I had been an arrant fool to betray myself before
that man. Yet having done so, I saw that any attempt to conceal my
knowledge must of necessity reflect up
