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 so--but not at once.

Is n't there a barrel of lime in the basement ?" "Yes." "Come downstairs with me." They started downward then, and Fairchild, creeping as swiftly as he could, hurried under the protection of the rotten casing, where the wainscoting had dropped away with the decay of years.

There he watched them pass, Rodaine in the lead, carrying a smoking lamp with its half-broken chimney careening on the base.