a
toneless, flat voice. He babbled very satisfactorily, in Ribiera's
view.

* * * * *

When Ribiera shook him roughly by the shoulder he started, and let his
eyes clear. Ribiera was laughing heartily.

"Senhor! Senhor!" said Ribiera jovially. "My hospitality is at fault!
You come to be my guest and I allow you to be so bored that you drop
off to sleep! I was detained for five minutes and came in to find you
slumbering!"

Bell stared ruefully about him and rubbed his eyes.

"I did, for a fact," he admitted apologetically. "I'm sorry. Up late
last night, and I was tired. I dropped in to see those planes you
suggested I'd be interested in. But I daresay it's late, now."

Ribiera chuckled again. He was in his late and corpulent forties and
was something of a dandy. If one were captious, one might object to
the thickness of his lips. They suggested sensuality. And there was a
shade--a bare shade--more of pigment in his skin than the American
passes altogether unquestioned. And his hair was wavy.... But he could
be a charming host.

"We'll have a drink," he said bluntly, "while the car's coming around
to the door, and then go out to the flying field."

"No drink," said Bell, lifting his hand. "I feel squeamish now. I say!
Haven't you changed the lamps, or something? Everything looks
blue...."

That was a lie. Things looked entirely normal to Bell. But he looked
about him as if vaguely puzzled. If he had drunk the liquor Ribiera
had sent him, things would have had a bluish tinge for some time
after. But as it was....

Ribiera chaffed him jovially on the way to the flying field. And
introducing him to fliers and officials of the field, he told with
gusto of Bell's falling asleep while waiting for him. A very jolly
companion, Ribiera.

But Bell saw two or three men looking at him very queerly. Almost
sympathetically. And he noticed, a little later, that a surprising
number of fliers and officials of the airport seemed to be concealing
an abject terror of Ribiera. One or two of them seemed to hate him as
well.

CHAPTER IV

Bell stepped out of a tall French window to a terrace, and from the
terrace to the ground. There was a dull muttering in the sky to the
east, and a speck appeared, drew nearer swiftly, grew larger, and
became a small army biplane. It descended steeply to earth behind a
tall planting of trees. Bell lighted a cigarette and moved
purposelessly down an elaboratel