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F. Britten Austin
163
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With a brusque movement he pulled aside the wall of screens. Behind them—piously telling their beads—were a priest and two nuns.
MORDAUNT ceased, tossed the end of his cigar into my fireplace.
"Good God!" I exclaimed. "What a finish!"
"That's not quite the finish," said Mordaunt. "Next day the old Duca di San Durato shot himself."
"Shot himself?"
"The poor devil was in love with her himself. Sent a note to old Lenormand, asking his pardon." Mordaunt got up, reached for his hat and coat. "There was damn nearly another suicide, too," he said, brusquely. "Good night!"
