Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. I see now that you make a game with me indeed. I don’t feel it. I just wanted a breath of air. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world. The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table.
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