he has survived from the depth of time, by which he may
yet survive when all our wisdom is dust."

"I know several very excellent ways of learning secrets," said Fenayrou
as he passed his dry tongue over his lips. "Shall I begin?"

Dubosc came back with a start and looked at him.

"It would be useless. He could stand any torture you could invent. No,
that is not the way."

"Listen to mine," said Perroquet, with sudden violence. "Me, I am
wearied of the gab. You say he is a man? Very well. If he is a man, he
must have blood in his veins. That would be, anyway, good to drink."

"No," returned Dubosc. "It would be hot. Also it would be salt. For
food--perhaps. But we do not need food."

"Kill the animal, then, and throw him over!"

"We gain nothing."

"Well, sacred name, what do you want?"

"To beat him!" cried the doctor, curiously agitated. "To beat him at the
game--that's what I want! For our own sakes, for our racial pride, we
must, we must. To outlast him, to prove ourselves his masters. By better
brain, by better organization and control. Watch him, watch him,
friends--that we may ensnare him, that we may detect and defeat him in
the end!"

But the doctor was miles beyond them.

"Watch?" growled The Parrot. "I believe you, old windbag. It is all one
watch. I sleep no more and leave any man alone with that bottle."

To this the issue finally sharpened. Such craving among such men could
not be stayed much longer by driblets. They watched. They watched the
Canaque. They watched each other. And they watched the falling level in
their flask--until the tension gave.

Another dawn upon the same dead calm, rising like a conflagration
through the puddled air, cloudless, hopeless! Another day of blinding,
slow-drawn agony to meet. And Dubosc announced that their allowance must
be cut to half a thimbleful.

There remained perhaps a quarter of a liter--a miserable reprieve of
bare life among the three of them, but one good swallow for a yearning
throat.

At sight of the bottle, at the tinkle of its limpid content, so cool and
silvery green inside the glass, Fenayrou's nerve snapped....

"More!" he begged, with pleading hands. "I die. More!"

When the doctor refused him he groveled among the reeds, then rose
suddenly to his knees and tossed his arms abroad with a hoarse cry:

"A ship! A ship!"

The others span about. They saw the thin unbroken ring of this greater
and more terrible prison to which they had