"If there were they must have been destroyed with the body when the lava poured down the valley into the sea."
"The lava: of course," assented Darrow, with elaborate nonchalance. "Well, he was a kind old boy. A cheerful, simple, wise old child."
"I would have given my right hand to save him," cried Slade. "It was so sudden—so damnable"
"Better to have saved him than me," said Darrow. He spoke with the first touch of feeling that he exhibited. "I have to thank you for my life, Eagen—I beg your pardon: Slade. It's hard to remember."
Dr. Trendon arose, and Captain Parkinson with him.
"Give you two hours, Mr. Darrow," said the surgeon. "No more. If he seems exhausted, give him one of these powders. I'll look in in an hour."
At the end of an hour he returned. Slade was lying back on his pillow. Darrow was talking, eagerly, confidentially. In another hour he came out.
"The whole thing is clear," he said to Captain Parkinson. "I am ready to report to you."
"This evening," said the captain. "The mess will want to hear."
"Yes, they will want to hear," assented Darrow. "You've had Slade's story. I'll take it up where he left off, and he'll check me. Mine's as incredible as—as Slade's was. And it's as true."
