Cyclopean eye, that swayed as it approached. Alternately it
waned and brightened. Suddenly it illuminated the dim lineaments of a
face. The face neared them. It joined itself to reality by a very solid
pair of shoulders, and a man sauntered into the twilit mouth of the
cavern, removed a cigarette from his lips, and gave them greeting.

"Sorry not to have met you at the door," he said, courteously. "It was you
that knocked, was it not? Yes? It roused me from my siesta."

They stared at him in silence. He blinked in the light, with unaccustomed
eyes.

"You will pardon me for not asking you in at once. Past circumstances have
rendered me--well--perhaps suspicious is not too strong a word."

They noticed that he held a revolver in his hand.

Captain Parkinson came forward a step. The host half raised his weapon.
Then he dropped it abruptly.

"Navy men!" he said, in an altered voice. "I beg your pardon. I could not
see at first. My name is Percy Darrow."

"I am Captain Parkinson of the United States cruiser _Wolverine_," said
the commander. "This is Mr. Barnett, Mr. Darrow. Dr. Trendon, Mr. Darrow."

They shook hands all around.

"Like some damned silly afternoon tea," Trendon said later, in retailing
it to the mess. A pause followed.

"Won't you step in, gentlemen?" said Darrow, "May I offer you the makings
of a cigarette?"

"Wouldn't you be robbing yourself?" inquired the captain, with a twinkle.

"Oh, you found the diary, then," said Darrow easily. "Rather silly of me
to complain so. But really, in conditions like these, tobacco becomes a
serious problem."

"So one might imagine," said Trendon drily. He looked closely at Darrow.
The man's eyes were light and dancing. From the nostrils two livid lines
ran diagonally. Such lines one might make with a hard blue pencil pressed
strongly into the flesh. The surgeon moved a little nearer.

"Can you give me any news of my friend Thrackles?" asked Darrow lightly.
"Or the esteemed Pulz? Or the scholarly and urbane Robinson of Ethiopian
extraction?"

"Dead," said the captain.

"Ah, a pity," said the other. He put his hand to his forehead. "I had
thought it probable." His face twitched. "Dead? Very good. In fact ...
really ... er ... amusing."

He began to laugh, quite to himself. It was not a pleasant laugh to hear.
Trendon caught and shook him by the shoulder.

"Drop it," he said.

Darrow seemed not to hear him. "Dead, all dead!" he repeated. "And I've
outla