The Snake Stone

57

Stanislaw Palewski had tucked himself up in the window seat of his sitting room with a glass at his elbow, Gyllius in his hand, and a bottle not far away, before he became aware that there was something unusual about his room.

He looked around, mystified. He glanced out of the open window. The girl, Suela, was sitting under the tree, watching her brother playing in the dirt with a stick and with a concentrated look on his face. Palewski sniffed the air, then his glass. His gaze fell on the sideboard, beneath the oil portrait of Jan Sobieski, the victor of Vienna. He looked at the sideboard for quite a while, and then, with a puzzled grunt, he got up and went over to look at the flowers.

Marta had filled a very beautiful vase with late-flowering tulips, the Turkish sort, with frilly petals. It seemed to Palewski, as he ran his finger over the surface of the sideboard, that she had polished that as well.

He went back to his seat, wedged himself into it with his knees up and his feet against the shutter board, and took a drink.

It was all very extraordinary, he thought to himself. Poor Marta! This business with Xani must be upsetting her more than he’d thought.

Where the devil, he wondered, had the wretched man got to?