ring as ever, though his answer didn't sound quite sane. He
said, 'The clocks wouldn't tick.'

"He said it as if it explained everything. Then he unstrapped a tin
case from his belt, laid his head on it, and was instantly asleep.

"I cried out, 'Is it the fever, Pedro?' But my man said: 'No, Senor,
it is the hunger.' He rolled Scott up very cleverly in a blanket.
'This senor has had the fever, but it is not upon him now. Without
doubt he is a little mad from being in the forest so long. But when
he wakes he will be stronger.' So much I heard, and no more.
Unconsciousness came down on me like a wave. But into the dark heart
of that wave I carried the certainty that Pedro knew all about the
matter and that he hated Henkel. How or why I was certain of this I
don't know. But I was.

"I woke in the cool of the evening. The fresh wind off the river was
like the breath of life, and Pedro's face, thrust close to mine, no
longer grew large and small by fits. I noticed that it was quite gray,
and that his lips twitched as he muttered, 'Senor, Senor--'

"I said: 'Where is the Senor Scott?'

"'He woke a little while ago, and called for water to wash in, and a
clean coat, and he used the hair-brush. Then he took the little tin
box and went out--went out.'

"I got to my feet, threw an arm over Pedro's shoulder, and he ran with
me out into the moonlit street. The track to the fountain lay like a
ribbon of silver, and the houses were like silver blocks. And every
house was shuttered and silent--breathless. Not a man lounged under
the shade of the walls, not a girl went late to draw water, not a dog
barked. The little place was deserted in the hold of the forest. It
lay like a lonely, luminous raft, in the midst of a black sea. Only
ahead of me a man stumbled slowly in the center of the road, and his
shadow staggered beside him. I have said there was no other living
thing visible. Yet, as this man stumbled past the shuttered houses
the very blades of grass, the very leaves on the wall, seemed to have
conscious life and to be aware of him. When the wind moved the trees,
every branch seemed to be straining to follow him as Pedro and I
followed.

"We followed, but we could not gain on him. It was like the dreams of
delirium. Pedro and I seemed to be struggling through the silence of
Herares as if it were something heavy and resistant, and Scott reeled
from side to side, but always kept the same distance ahead. We were
still behind