With his equally youthful associate Dr.Charles Stanton and a Swedish woman, Thora Halversen, who had been Edith Throckmartin's nurse from babyhood, they had set forth for the Nan-Matal, that extraordinary group of island ruins clustered along the eastern shore of Ponape in the Carolines.
I knew that he had planned to spend at least a year among these ruins, not only of Ponape but of Lele--twin centres of a colossal riddle of humanity, a weird flower of civilization that blossomed ages before the seeds of Egypt were sown; of whose arts we know little enough and of whose science nothing.

He had carried with him unusually complete equipment for the work he had expected to do and which, he hoped, would be his monument.
What then had brought Throckmartin to Port Moresby, and what was that change I had sensed in him?
Hurrying down to the lower deck I found him with the purser.

As I spoke he turned, thrust out to me an eager hand--and then I saw what was that difference that had so moved me.

He knew, of course by my silence and involuntary shrinking the shock my closer look had given me.

His eyes filled; he turned brusquely from the purser, hesitated--then hurried off to his stateroom.
"'E looks rather queer--eh ?" said the purser.