The figure that outlined itself in the light of the candle,
against the blackness of the passageway without was of such a
singular and foreign aspect as to fit extremely well into the
extraordinary tragedy of which Jonathan was at once the victim
and the cause.

It was that of a lean, tall man with a thin, yellow countenance,
embellished with a long, black mustache, and having a pair of
forbidding, deeply set, and extremely restless black eyes. A
crimson handkerchief beneath a lace cocked hat was tied tightly
around the head, and a pair of silver earrings, which caught the
light of the candle, gleamed and twinkled against the inky
darkness of the passageway beyond.

This extraordinary being, without favoring our hero with any word
of apology for his intrusion, immediately thrust himself forward
into the room, and stretching his long, lean, bird-like neck so
as to direct his gaze over the intervening table, fixed a gaping
and concentrated stare upon the figure lying still and motionless
in the centre of the room.

"Vat you do dare," said he, with a guttural and foreign accent,
and thereupon, without waiting for a reply, came forward and
knelt down beside the dead man. After thrusting his hand into the
silent and shrunken bosom, he presently looked up and fixed his
penetrating eyes upon our hero's countenance, who, benumbed and
bedazed with his despair, still stood like one enchained in the
bonds of a nightmare. "He vas dead!" said the stranger, and
Jonathan nodded his head in reply.