"I rather like the light of this lamp."

"It isn't the lamp," drawled the Greek and made a little grimace;
"I hate these candles."

He waved his hand to the mantle-shelf where the six tall, white,
waxen candles stood out from two wall sconces.

"Why on earth do you hate candles?" asked the other in surprise.

Kara made no reply for the moment, but shrugged his shoulders.
Presently he spoke.

"If you were ever tied down to a chair and by the side of that
chair was a small keg of black powder and stuck in that powder was
a small candle that burnt lower and lower every minute - my God!"

John was amazed to see the perspiration stand upon the forehead of
his guest.

"That sounds thrilling," he said.

The Greek wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief and his hand
shook a little.

"It was something more than thrilling," he said.

"And when did this occur?" asked the author curiously.