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Updated: May 10, 2025
Daniel Randon was both tall and fat, a slow impressive bulk in white linen with a smooth impassive face and considering brown eyes. "This," he said unremarkably, "is a surprise. But I am, of course, glad; particularly since Venalez reported that Fanny was with you." "She isn't," Lee replied tersely; there had been no cable from Eastlake, he saw, and he must plunge boldly into what he had to say.
"And, in the meanwhile," Lee inquired, "must we stay here? Savina will be miserable." "Why not?" Daniel gazed about casually. "I lived with Venalez a month. It is good enough if you are not too strict about a travelling beauty or two who may be stopping as well." His apologies to Savina, in the room above, were faultless.
Lee, stumbling down the stairs, found Daniel, the doctor, and the proprietor of the hotel, Venalez, talking together. As he approached there was a flash of premonition on his brother's broad unstirring face. Lee said humbly: "She is dead." Fancett, with Daniel Randon, went up at once, but he lingered, facing the Cuban. Venalez had a long brown countenance, with a disordered moustache.
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