and corridors until he found himself on the threshold of the engine-room itself.
He was about to back out of this entrance and strike still deeper when he found himself confronted by an engineer smoking a short brier-root pipe. The pale blue eyes of this sandy-headed engineer were wide with wonder, startled and incredulous wonder, as they stared at the ragged figure in the doorway.
"Where in the name o' God did you come from?" demanded the man with the brier-root pipe.
"I came out from Guayaquil," answered Blake, reaching searchingly down in his wet pocket. "And I can't go back."
The sandy-headed man backed away.
"From the fever camps?"
Blake could afford to smile at the movement.
"Don't worry—there 's no fever 'round me. That's what I 've been through!" And he showed the bullet-holes through his tattered coat-cloth.
