Explore "Mr. Marx's Secret" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When I awoke it was with the dulled senses and aching head which usually follow either a drugged sleep or an unnaturally heavy one. I sat up on the sofa, rubbing my eyes and staring around in blank surprise. Daylight was streaming in through the chinks of the drawn blinds, but the gas was still burning with a dull, sickly light.
The table betrayed all the signs of an all-night orgie. Several packs of cards were lying strewn over the crumpled, ash-scattered cloth. There were half-a-dozen tumblers -- one nearly full, another broken into pieces -- and several empty soda-water bottles lay on the floor.