the six tall, white, waxen candles stood out from two wall sconces.
"Why on earth do you hate candles?" asked the other in surprise.
Kara made no reply for the moment, but shrugged his shoulders. Presently he spoke.
"If you were ever tied down to a chair and by the side of that chair was a small keg of black powder and stuck in that powder was a small candle that burnt lower and lower every minute—my God!"
John was amazed to see the perspiration stand upon the forehead of his guest.
"That sounds thrilling," he said.
The Greek wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief and his hand shook a little.
"It was something more than thrilling," he said.
"And when did this occur?" asked the author curiously.
"In Albania," replied the other; "it was many years ago, but the devils are always sending me reminders of the fact."
