Explore "Dead Men Tell no Tales" by E.W. Hornung on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It must have been midnight when I opened my eyes; a clock was striking as though it never would stop. My mouth seemed fire; a pungent flavor filled my nostrils; the wineglass felt cold against my teeth. "That's more like it! " muttered a voice close to my ear. An arm was withdrawn from under my shoulders. I was allowed to sink back upon some pillows. And now I saw where I was. The room was large and poorly lighted. I lay in my clothes on an old four-poster bed. And my enemies were standing over me in a group.
"I hope you are satisfied! " sneered Joaquin Santos, with a flourish of his eternal cigarette.