h me for many years.
He cooks for me, cleans the specimens, and takes care of me in all ways.
A most reliable man, I assure you."

"Of course, if you can answer for his discretion----"

The Individual was standing at a little distance from the table
observing the two men intently but respectfully with his keen little
black eyes. The rest of his square, dark face expressed nothing. He had
perfectly straight, jet-black hair which hung evenly all around his head
and flat against his cheeks. He was dressed entirely in a black robe
of the nature of a kaftan, gathered closely round his waist by a black
girdle, and fitting tightly over his stalwart shoulders.

"His discretion is beyond all doubt," Keyork answered, "and for the best
of all reasons. He is totally deaf and dumb and absolutely illiterate.
I brought him years ago in Astrakhan, of a Russian friend. He is very
clever with his fingers. It is he who stole for me the Malayan lady's
head over there, after she was executed. And now, my dear friend, let us
have supper."

There were neither plates nor knives nor forks upon the table, and at
a sign from Keyork the Individual retired to procure those Western
incumbrances to eating. The Wanderer, acquainted as he had long been
with his host's eccentricities, showed little surprise, but understood
that whatever he said would not be overheard, any more than if they had
been alone. He hesitated a moment, however, for he had not determined
exactly how far it was necessary to acquaint Keyork with the
circumstances, and he was anxious to avoid all reference to Unorna's
folly in regard to himself. The Individual returned, bringing, with
other things, a drinking-glass for the Wanderer. Keyork filled it and
then filled his own. It was clear that ascetic practices formed no part
of his scheme for the prolongation of life. As he raised his glass to
his lips, his bright eyes twinkled.

"To Keyork's long life and happiness," he said calmly, and then sipped
the wine. "And now for your story," he added, brushing the brown drops
from his white moustache with a small damask napkin which the Individual
presented to him and immediately received again, to throw it aside as
unfit for a second use.

"I hardly think that we can afford to linger over supper," the Wanderer
said, noticing Keyork's coolness with some anxiety. "The case is urgent.
Israel Kafka has lost his head completely. He has sworn to kill Unorna,
and is at the present moment