there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright, now faint, as
the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes. The
most lay silent, but some muttered to themselves, and others talked
together in a strange, low, monotonous voice, their conversation coming
in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling
out his own thoughts and paying little heed to the words of his
neighbour. At the farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal,
beside which on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old
man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists, and his elbows upon his
knees, staring into the fire.
As I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe for
me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth.
Thank you. I have not come to stay, said I. There is a friend of
mine here, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him.
There was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and peering
through the gloom, I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, and unkempt, staring
out at me.
My God! It s Watson, said he. He was in a pitiable state of reaction,
with every nerve in a twitter. I say, Watson, what o clock is it?
Nearly eleven.
Of what day?
Of Friday, June 19th.
Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What d you
want to frighten a chap for? He sank his face onto his arms and began
to sob in a high treble key.
I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting this two
days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!
So I am. But you ve got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here a few
hours, three pipes, four pipes I forget how many. But I ll go home with
you. I wouldn t frighten Kate poor little Kate. Give me your hand! Have
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