ce was jaw. Not men to put in the company of
little Incarnacion, either of them; Scott's experience of the Coast
spared him any doubts about that. It would be easy, of course, to
settle the matter at once--simply to step up and let his knife into
the Italian, under the neck, where he sat. At that season and in that
place it was an almost obvious remedy; but it would not be less than a
week before he could get clear of the jail, and in that time any one
might find the boat.

He grasped his change and went out. There was only one thing to do: he
must go to the creek where the boat was, and lie in wait for them
there. "Nobody'll miss 'em," he said to himself; "and there's
crocodiles in that creek, all handy."

He struck across the Praca again, between the fires, and down an alley
that would lead him to the beach. The voice of the priest in the cart
seemed to pursue him till he outdistanced it, and he pressed on
briskly. His way was between tall, dark houses; the path lay at their
feet, narrow and tortuous, like some remote canon. Here was no light,
save when, at the turn of the way, a star swam into view overhead,
pale and cold, and bright as a lantern. Indistinct figures passed him
sometimes; when one came into sight, he would move close to the wall
with a hand on his knife, and the two would edge by one another
watchfully and in silence.

He was almost clear and could smell the sea, when he came round a
corner and met some four or five white figures in the middle of the
way, sheeted like ghosts and walking in silence. There was not a space
to avoid them, and he stopped dead for them to approach and speak--or,
if that was the way of it, to attack. Some of the others stopped too,
but one came on. Scott marked that he walked with a shuffle of his
feet, and made out, by the starlight, that his sheet clung about him
as though it were wet. And, at the same time, he noticed some faint
odor, too vague to put a name to, but sickly and suggestive of
hospitals.

"Go with God," said the figure, when it was close to him. The words
were Portuguese, but the inflection was foreign.

"Are you English?" demanded Scott sharply.

The other had halted a man's length from him. "Ay," he said, "I'm
English."

"Well," said Scott, making to move on, but pointing to where the other
white figures were waiting in a group near by, "what are those chaps
waiting for?"

"They'll not hurt you," answered the other. He mumbled a little when
he