He opened the waistcoat and thrust his hand inside the shirt.

Then he felt the pulse of the limp wrist.
For a moment he looked at the face steadily, almost contemplatively it might have seemed, and then drew both arms close to the body.
Foorgat Bey, the brother of Nahoum Pasha, was dead.
Rising, David turned, as if in a dream, to the girl.

He made a motion of the hand towards the body.

She understood.

Dismay was in her face, but the look of horror and desperation was gone.