He
put it in his pocket.
Then he gently turned the handle of the door, and went in. For a
moment he thought the room was empty. The shade at the window
was drawn closed. The Wolf swept the room with a swift glance
then his eyes rested on the bed.
Ah! Did you start then, ever so slightly, you cruel killer, you
merciless destroyer? What good now is the blue vial in your
pocket? Of what use the clenched fist, and writhing, clutching
fingers? You have come too late, Wolf; you have lost your poor
too! Look and look and look again at that peaceful bed. See how
straight the sheet is and how decently it is drawn up. Go over,
Wolf, and draw it down and see what it covers! Hurry, Wolf,
because you have but little time to remain undisturbed! Already
the nurse and doctor have finished making their report; already a
narrow, white stretcher is being prepared.
For the last time in all your wicked life, black murder filled
your heart, Wolf, but the Weasel has escaped you. The Wolf put
the sheet back over the dead face of the Weasel and grating his
teeth, stepped softly to the door. He slipped into the hall, but
as he did so, he heard low voices, and instead of turning toward
his own room, he went in the opposite direction where he saw a
stairway.
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