” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. “To tell you the truth, I am a little dull. You will leave me utterly distraught. If you can’t see as how there ain’t nothing in this barrack of a place to help me do the job, I can. Anyhow, that is how things are. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem.
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