He spoke a good deal about death, too. He was mortally anxious
about winning through with his job, but he didn't care a rush for
his life.
'I reckon it's like going to sleep when you are pretty well tired
out, and waking to find a summer day with the scent of hay coming
in at the window. I used to thank God for such mornings way back
in the Blue-Grass country, and I guess I'll thank Him when I wake
up on the other side of Jordan.'
Next day he was much more cheerful, and read the life of Stonewall
Jackson much of the time. I went out to dinner with a mining
engineer I had got to see on business, and came back about half-past
ten in time for our game of chess before turning in.
I had a cigar in my mouth, I remember, as I pushed open the
smoking-room door. The lights were not lit, which struck me as
odd. I wondered if Scudder had turned in already.
I snapped the switch, but there was nobody there. Then I saw
something in the far corner which made me drop my cigar and fall
into a cold sweat.
My guest was lying sprawled on his back. There was a long knife
through his heart which skewered him to the floor.
CHAPTER TWO
The Milkman Sets Out on his Travels
I sat down in an armchair and felt very sick. That lasted for maybe
five minutes, and was succeeded by a fit of the horrors. The poor
staring white face on the floor was more than I could bear, and I
managed to get a table-cloth and cover it.
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