could kill Ribiera, perhaps, and let only God know how many people go
mad. Perhaps. Or perhaps Ribiera would merely be supplanted by another
man. Ortiz had said that he killed The Master's deputy in Buenos
Aires, but that another man had taken his place. And the thing went
on. And The Master desired a deputy in the United States....

"Somehow," said Bell very softly, "this has got to be stopped.
Somehow. Right away. That devilish stuff! Can you get hold of a bit of
the antidote?" he asked abruptly. "The merest drop of it?"

She shook her head.

"No, Senhor. It is given in food, in wine. One never knows that one
has had it. It is tasteless, and we have only Senhor Ribiera's word
that it has been given."

Bell's hands clenched.

"So devilish clever.... What are we going to do?"

The girl stuffed the corner of her handkerchief into her mouth.

"I am thinking of my little baby," she said, choking. "I must persuade
you, Senhor. I--I have been tearful. I--I am not attractive. I will
try. If I am not attractive to you...."

* * * * *

Bell cursed, deeply and savagely. It seemed to be the only possible
thing to do. And then he spoke coldly.

"Listen to me, Senhora. Ribiera talked frankly to me just now. He
knows that so far I am not subdued. If I escape he cannot blame you.
He cannot! And I am going to attempt it. If you will follow me...."

"There is no escape for me," she said dully, "and if he thinks that I
knew of your escape and did not tell him...."

"Follow me," said Bell, smiling queerly. "I shall take care that he
does not suspect it."

He gazed about for an instant, orienting himself. The plane that had
just landed--the last of a dozen or more that had arrived in the past
two days--had dipped down on the private landing field to the north.

There was a beautifully kept way running from the landing field to the
house, and he went on through the thick shrubbery amid a labyrinth of
paths, choosing the turnings most likely to lead him to it.

* * * * *

He came out upon it suddenly, and faced toward the field. There were
two men coming toward the house, on foot. One was a flying pilot,
still in his flying clothes. The other was a tall man, for a
Brazilian, with the lucent clarity of complexion that bespeaks
uncontaminated white descent. He was white-haired, and his face was
queerly tired, as if he were exhausted.

Bell looked sharply. He se