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Updated: July 27, 2025
Kreener could not speak of it complacently and with inside knowledge. These were his Bohemian friends, these dreamers and schemers. Of this side of his life his scientific colleagues knew little or nothing, but in his hours of leisure at Regent's Park it was with these dreamers that he loved to surround himself rather than with his brethren of the laboratory. I think if Dr.
It all occupied only a few minutes, and then Andrews, slowly opening his rigidly crooked fingers, stood panting and looking down at the distorted face of the dead man. For once in his life the Scotsman was sober, and turning to Dr. Kreener: "I have waited seven long years for this," he said, "and I'll hang wi' contentment."
"It was called 'A Dream at Dawn." As he spoke the words I saw Andrews start forward, and Dr. Kreener exchanged a swift glance with him. But the Scotsman, unseen by the vainglorious half-caste, shook his head fiercely. The picture to which Tcheriapin referred will, of course, be perfectly familiar to you. It had phenomenal popularity some eight years ago.
I lived and moved through those last fevered hours in the lives of Dr. Kreener, Tcheriapin, the violinist, and that other tragic figure around whom the story centred. Having once heard him play you will not have forgotten him. At that time, although war still raged, all musical London was asking where he had come from and to what nation he belonged.
At the elfin black hair and Mephistophelian face of this horrible, wonderful image, I stared fascinatedly. I looked and looked at the dwarfed figure of... Tcheriapin! All these impressions came to me in the space of a few hectic moments, when in upon my mental tumult intruded a husky whisper from the man on the sofa. "Kreener!" he said. "Kreener!"
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