The other man rose: "My good man, what the devil brings you here in a blizzard like this? Why, you might never have got through alive!"
The messenger nodded and gurgled.
"If it isn't absolute madness!" growled the other, and told the servant to bring some tea. "Well, where were you making for, then, dad? Martin's Hut?"
The messenger shook his head and opened his leather pouch; it was full of snow; he took out a telegram frozen so stiff that it crackled.
"Bha, bha, Bharek?" he croaked out hoarsely.
"What do you say?" asked the other.
"Is . . . anyone . . . here . . . named . . . Mar . . . ek, an . . . Eng . . . i . . . neer?" the messenger stammered out with a reproachful look.
"That's me," the thin gentlemen cried. "Have you something for me? Let me see it, quick!"
Marek tore open the telegram. It read:
"Your predictions confirmed. Bondy."
Nothing more.
