It was so deep, this enchanted sleep, that when some time afterwards he
gently tried to open her fingers and free his hand, he succeeded without
provoking the slightest stir.
"There is some very simple explanation, no doubt," he thought, as he
stole out into the living-room.
Absent-mindedly he pulled a book out of the top shelf, and sat down with
it; but even after he had opened it on his knee, and had been staring
at the pages for a time, he had not the slightest idea of what it was
about. He stared and stared at the crowded, parallel lines. It was only
when, raising his eyes for no particular reason, he saw Wang standing
motionless on the other side of the table, that he regained complete
control of his faculties.
"Oh, yes," he said, as if suddenly reminded of a forgotten appointment
of a not particularly welcome sort.
He waited a little, and then, with reluctant curiosity, forced himself
to ask the silent Wang what he had to say. He had some idea that the
matter of the vanished revolver would come up at last; but the guttural
sounds which proceeded from the Chinaman did not refer to that delicate
subject. His speech was concerned with cups, saucers, plates, forks, and
knives. All these things had been put away in the cupboards on the
back veranda, where they belonged, perfectly clean, "all plopel." Heyst
wondered at the scrupulosity of a man who was about to abandon him;
for he was not surprised to hear Wang conclude the account of his
stewardship with the words:
"I go now.
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