t　the　Devil。”

“You　think　I’m　lying；　then？”

183

He　didn’t　have　enough　courage　to　murder　me；　so　he　wanted　me　to　enrage

him。 “Nay； you’re not lying but you’re not acknowledging what you feel

either。”

“I　acknowledge　very　well　what　I　feel。　I’m　suffering　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　ar