her world. Other creatures were at work in his brain
now. They were building up and putting together the loose ends of
things. Carrigan became one of them, working so hard that frequently a
pair of dark eyes came out of the dawning of things to stop him, and
quieting hands and a voice soothed him to rest. The hands and the voice
became very intimate. He missed them when they were not near,
especially the hands, and he was always groping for them to make sure
they had not gone away.

Only once after the floating cloud transformed itself into the walls of
the bateau cabin did the chaotic darkness of the sands fully possess
him again. In that darkness he heard a voice. It was not the voice of
Golden-Hair, or of Bateese, or of Jeanne Marie-Anne. It was close to
his ears. And in that darkness that smothered him there was something
terrible about it as it droned slowly the
words--"HAS-ANY-ONE-SEEN-BLACK-ROGER-AUDEMARD?" He tried to answer, to
call back to it, and the voice came again, repeating the words,
emotionless, hollow, as if echoing up out of a grave. And still harder
he struggled to reply to it, to say that he was David Carrigan, and
that he was out on the trail of Black Roger Audemard, and that Black
Roger was far north. And suddenly it seemed to him that the voice
changed into the flesh and blood of Black Roger himself, though he
could not see in the darkness--and he reached out, gripping fiercely at
the warm substance of flesh, until he heard another voice, the voice of
Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain, entreating him to let his victim go. It was
this time that his eyes shot open, wide and seeing, and straight over
him was the face of Jeanne Marie-Anne, nearer him than it had been even
in the visionings of his feverish mind. His fingers were clutching her
shoulders, gripping like steel hooks.

"M'sieu--M'sieu David!" she was crying.

For a moment he stared; then his hands and fingers relaxed, and his
arms dropped limply. "Pardon--I--I was dreaming," he struggled weakly.
"I thought--"

He had seen the pain in her face. Now, changing swiftly, it lighted up
with relief and gladness. His vision, cleared by long darkness, saw the
change come in an instant like a flash of sunshine. And then--so near
that he could have touched her--she was smiling down into his eyes. He
smiled back. It took an effort, for his face felt stiff and unnatural.

"I was dreaming--of a man--named Roger Audemard," he continued to
apologize. "Did I