those people that Freya was so afraid of. What was left to do
here?... He paid and went out.

Night had fallen. Under the light of the electric lamp posts street
cars and automobiles were passing toward the interior of the city.
Following the arcades of the old edifices near the harbor, groups of
workers from the maritime establishments were filing by. Barcelona,
dazzling with splendor, was attracting the crowds. The inner harbor,
black and solitary, was filled with weak little lights twinkling from
the heights of the masts.

Ferragut stood undecided whether to go home to eat, or to a restaurant
in the Rambla. Then he suspected that some of the fugitives from that
dirty cafe were near, intending to follow him. In vain he glanced
searchingly around: he could not recognize anybody in the groups that
were reading the papers or conversing while waiting for the street car.

Suddenly he felt a desire to see Toni. Uncle Caragol would improvise
something to eat while the captain was telling his mate all about his
adventure at the bar. Besides, it seemed to him a fitting finale to his
escapade to offer to any enemies that might be following him a
favorable occasion for attacking him on the deserted wharf. The demon
of false pride was whispering in his ears: "Thus they will see that you
are not afraid of them."

And he marched resolutely toward the harbor, passing over railroad
tracks outlining the walls of long storehouses and winding in and out
among mountains of merchandise. At first he met little groups going
toward the city, then pairs, then single individuals, finally
nobody--absolute solitude.

Further on, the darkness was cut by silhouettes of ebony that sometimes
were boats and at others, alleyways of packages or hills of coal. The
black water reflected the red and green serpents from the lights on the
boats. A transatlantic liner was prolonging its loading operations by
the light of its electric reflectors, standing forth out of the
darkness with the gayety of a Venetian fiesta.

From time to time a man of slow step would come within the circle of
the street lamp, the muzzle of his gun gleaming. Others were lying in
ambush among the mountains of cargo. They were custom-house men and
guardians of the port.

Suddenly the captain felt an instinctive warning. They were following
him.... He stopped in the shadows, close to a pile of crates and saw
some men advancing in his direction, passing rapidly over the edge of