tal! I can't hold 'em when
they 've got the spirit that rises above--I 've tried, ain't I--and I
've only got one!"

"One?" Squint's voice became suddenly excited. "One--what one?"

"I 'm not going to tell. But I know--Crazy Laura--that's what they
call me--and they give me a sulphur pillow to sleep on. But I know--I
know!"

There was silence then for a moment, and Fairchild, huddled in the
darkness below, felt the creeping, crawling chill of horror pass over
him as he listened. Above were a rogue and a lunatic, discussing
between them what, at times, seemed to concern him and his partner;
more, it seemed to go back to other days, when other men had worked the
Blue Poppy and met misfortunes. A bat fluttered about, just passing
his face, its vermin-covered wings sending the musty air close against
his cringing flesh. Far at the other side of the big hall a mountain
rat resumed its gnawing. Then it ceased. Squint Rodaine was talking
again.

"So you 're not going to tell me about 'the one', eh? What have you
got this door shut for?"

"No door 's shut."

"It is--don't you think I can see? This door leading into the front
room."

The sound of heavy shoes, followed by a lighter tread. Then a scream
above which could be heard the jangling of a rusty lock and the bumping
of a shoulder against wood. High and strident came Crazy Laura's voice:

"Stay out of there--I tell you, Roady! Stay out of there! It's
something that mortals should n't see--it's something--stay out--stay
out!"

"I won't--unlock this door!"

"I can't do it--the time has n't come yet--I must n't--"

"You won't--well, there 's another way." A crash, the sudden,
stumbling feet of a man, then the scratching of a match and an
exclamation: "So this is your immortal, eh?"

Only a moaning answered, moaning intermingled with some vague form of a
weird chant, the words of which Fairchild in the musty, dark hall below
could not distinguish. At last came Squint's voice again, this time in
softened tones:

"Laura--Laura, honey."

"Yes, Squint."

"Why did n't you tell your sweetheart about this?"

"I must n't--you 've spoiled it now, Roady."

"No--Honey. I can show you the way. He 's nearly gone. What were you
going to do when he went--?"

"He 'd have dissolved in air, Roady--I know. The spirits have told me."

"Perhaps so." The voice of the scar-faced, mean-visaged Squint Rodaine
was still honeyed, still cajoling. "Perhaps