THE SIAMESE CAT
Owen stood staring. He had seen violent death before, but this—
Just above the knife-thrust, on the broad, sallow back, showed in blue tattooing the Dual Powers, the convoluted Symbol of Creation. This, then, was the coolie whom Borkman had menaced outside the pawnbroker's shop.
Gently, in a nausea of repugnance, he turned the body over. As it rolled limply on its back, something scratched his hand. The queue bristled with long, sharp pins. Oil shone on the naked chest. Scarlett whistled thoughtfully: "Came prepared, didn't he? Regular burglar's make-up." The Mongol face, more inscrutable even than in life, gaped at the blazing sky, idiotic and daunting. He had been run almost through the body, pierced as if by a lance.
The stout belt-purse had been half wrenched away.
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