Then he remembered certain fragments of their last conversation and wished the stove-lifter had been flung with better aim.
Now, standing on the gallery of the south tower, he was conscious of a desire for breakfast.

Preparing that meal had been a part of his assistant's duties.

Now he must prepare it himself, and he was hungry and sleepy.

He mentally vowed that he would no longer delay notifying the authorities of the desertion, and would urge them to hurry in sending some one to fill the vacant place.
Grumbling aloud to himself, he moved around the circle of the gallery toward the door.

His hand was on the latch, when, turning, he cast another glance over the rail, this time directly downward toward the beach below.