I could not speak of it to you at once."
"Murdered?" exclaimed the apothecary in amazement. "And by whom?"
"That is the mystery. He was found dead in his study. I will tell
you all I know."
Meschini communicated the story to his friend in a disjointed
fashion, interspersing his narrative with many comments intended
to give himself courage to proceed. He told the tale with evident
reluctance, but he could not avoid the necessity. If Tiberio
Colaisso read the account in the paper that evening, as he
undoubtedly would, he would wonder why his companion had not been
the first to relate the catastrophe; and this wonder might turn
into a suspicion. It would have been better not to come to the
apothecary's, but since he found himself there he could not escape
from informing him of what had happened.
"It is very strange," said the chemist, when he had heard all.
Meschini thought he detected a disagreeable look in his eyes.
"It is, indeed," he answered. "I am made ill by it. See how my
hand trembles. I am cold and hot."
"You have been drinking too much," said Colaisso suddenly, and
with a certain brutality that startled his friend. "You are not
sober. You must have taken a great deal last night. A libation to
the dead, I suppose, in the manner of the ancients.
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