Mr. Muhlen, who presently turned up in anything but his usual sprightly
humour, was furnished with a full and corrected version of this last
affair, to the effect that there were not two, but fourteen, of these
victims; that prior to their frenzied act they had partaken of bread
and salt and sung the national anthem; that the instrument chosen was
not a carving knife but a rusty chisel. None of his listeners seemed to
be greatly moved by what, under ordinary circumstances, would have been
a valuable contribution to the entertainment. They were waiting for the
appearance of their president, the Commissioner, the life and soul of
the place, who would be able to give them an official apology for this
scandalous outbreak of nature. The Commissioner, for once in his life,
failed to perform his duty.
That unfortunate man was sitting at home, in the remote villa known as
the "Residency," profoundly troubled in mind. He leaned over his study
table, which was lighted by a lamp; his eyes peered dejectedly, through
the windows beyond, into the gloom.
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