CHAPTER XXXVI

THE DUNGEON We were out in the corridor now, Smith showing the way with the light of his electric pocket-lamp. My mind was clear enough, but I felt as weak as a child. “You look positively ghastly, old man,” rapped Smith, “which is no matter for wonder. I have yet to learn how it happened that you are not lying insensible, or dead, as a result of the drugged wine. When I heard someone moving in your room, it never occurred to me that it was _you_.” “Smith,” I said—“the house seems as still as death.” “You, Kâramanè…