The Heads of Cerberus

1919 Dystopian Science Fiction In a corner of the room, near the one window, stood a small, old-fashioned, black steel safe.

The door of it was swung wide open, while scattered on the floor before it lay a mass of papers.

From between loose pages and folded, elastic-bound documents gleamed a few small articles of jewelry.

Two or three empty morocco cases had been carelessly tossed on top of the pile. With eyes fixed on this heap, the man swung his legs over the side of the bed, and, staggering across to the safe, dropped on his knees beside it.

He ran his hand through the papers, uncovered a small brooch which he picked up and examined with a curious frowning intentness; then let it fall and again raised a hand to his head. In another corner of the room was a doorway through which he glimpsed a porcelain washbowl.

Toward this the man dragged himself. Wetting a towel that hung there, he began bathing the wound on his temple...