g　the　torments　of　the　grave

without　having　died。　Unawares；　we’ve　sunk　to　our　necks　in　sin　because　of　you；

and　now　you’re　preaching　”more　courage。“　You’re　the　one　who’s　made　me　a

murderer。　Nusret　Hoja’s　rabid　henchmen　will　kill　us　all。”

The less confident he became； the more he raised his voice and the more

fiercely he gripped the inkpot。 Would somebody passing down the snowy

street　hear　his　shouting　and　enter　the　house？

“How　did　you　kill　him？”　I　asked；　more　to　buy　time　than　out　of　curiosity。

“How　did　you　chance　to　meet　at　the　mouth　of　that　well？”

“The　night　Elegant　Effendi　left　your　house；　he　came　to　me；”　he　said；　with　an

unexpected　desire　to　confess。　“He　said　he’d　seen　the　final　double…leaf　painting。

I　tried　at　length　to　dissuade　him　from　making　an　issue　out　of　it。　I　got　him　to

walk　over　to　the　area　ravaged　by　the　fire。　I　told　him　I　had　money　buried　near

the well。 When he heard that； he believed me…What better proof that an

illustrator is motivated by greed alone？ That’s another reason I’m　not　sorry。

He　was　a　talented；　but　mediocre　artist。　The　greedy　oaf　was　ready　to　dig　into

the　frozen　earth　with　his　fingernails。　You　see；　if　I　truly　had　gold　pieces　buried

beside that well； I wouldn’t have had to do away with him。 Yes； you hired

yourself　quite　a　miserable　wretch　to　do　your　gilding。　The　dearly　departed　had

finesse； but his choice of color and application was ordinary； and his

illuminations were uninspired。 I didn’t leave a trace…Tell me； then； what is

the　essence　of　”style‘？　Today；　both　the　Franks　and　the　Chinese　talk　about　the

character　of