head up, swung out his arms, pushed out his chest.
"No bones broken with their monkey tricks. Hurry up, Harkness, We may as well go into the sea together. I bet the water's cold."
But no. The Japanese said something. Dunbar broke out:
"I'm damned if I will." Then, turning to Harkness: "He says I've got to go on by myself. It seems they're going to separate us. Rotten luck, but there's no fighting these two fellows here. Well, cheerio, Harkness. You've been a mighty fine pal, if we don't meet again. Only that rotten fog did us in."
Harkness struggled to his knees. "No, no, Dunbar. They shan't separate us. They shan't" but there was a touch of a hand on his arm and instantly, as though to save at all costs another pressure of that nerve, he sank back.
Dunbar went out, one of the Japanese following him. The door closed.
Now indeed Harkness needed all his fortitude. He had never felt such loneliness as this. From the beginning of the adventure there had been an element so fantastic, so improbable, that except at certain moments he had never believed in the final reality of it. There was something laughable, ludicrous about Crispin himself; he had been like a child playing with his toys. Now absolutely Harkness was face to face with reality.
