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.