Wonderful--too good to be true." For a long time, lying side by side, they might have been asleep.
Through the dim light on the white walls dipped and swerved the drunken shadow of a bat, who now whirled as a flake of blackness across the stars, now swooped and set the humbler flame reeling.

The flutter of his leathern wings, and the plash of water in the dark, where a coolie still drenched the flags, marked the sleepy, soothing measures in a nocturne, broken at strangely regular intervals by a shot, and the crack of a bullet somewhere above in the deserted chambers.
"Queer," mused Heywood, drowsily studying his watch.

"The beggar puts one shot every five minutes through the same window .-- I wonder what he's thinking about?
Lying out there, firing at the Red-Bristled Ghosts.

Odd! Wonder what they're all"-- He put back his cigar, mumbling.

"Handful of poor blackguards, all upset in their minds, and sweating round.