The man was not gone long, nor did he keep Evan waiting for the verdict. "Chief says I am right," he blurted out--it was the harsh-voiced one. "Orders are let him pa.s.s out before we go home to-night."

A pent breath escaped from all those in the room. A rush of conflicting emotions made Evan dizzy; fear, the determination not to show fear, and that unmanning sense of the terrible sweetness of life.

Oh, for a wall behind his back!

"So be it!" said the man in front of him soberly.

The other went on: "The arrangements are left to you. How are you going to do it?"

"I have the pistol that I took from him."

"What will we do with the body?"

"Let it lie. We're ready to flit from here anyway. It will be unrecognisable before it's discovered."

Evan visualised his own body putrefying, and the heart shrivelled in his breast. He clenched his teeth. All he had left was pride. "I will show nothing," he repeated to himself.

With too much suffering, the whole scene became slightly unreal to him.

He heard their talk as from a little distance:

"We will draw lots. Who's got a sheet of paper? Anything will do....

This will do. Tear it in eight pieces.... No, seven. Leave C. D.

out. He couldn't pull the trigger if his own life depended on it....

I mark a cross on one piece, see? Now fold each piece in four....

Call Aunt Liza up-stairs.... A hat? All right. Drop them in. Shake it up.... Don't let on anything to Aunt Liza.... Be quiet; here she is.... Aunt Liza hold this hat above your head, so.... Now come up to her one at a time and draw a paper. Do not open it until the last one is drawn."

A dreadful silence succeeded. The hard breathing of many men was audible in the room. Little cold drops sprang out in front of Evan's ears. A horrible constriction fastened on his breast, so that he could scarcely draw breath.

"Am I a coward?" he asked himself--and that caused him the sharpest pang of all. "Other men have died without flinching. Why do I suffer so?"

The resolute voice said: "Leave the room, Aunt Liza."

Evan heard the old negress shuffle out. She was the nearest thing to a friend that he had there.

"Now," cried the man, with a sharp catch of excitement.

Evan heard the crackling of the little bits of paper, and heard their breath escape them variously.

"Who has it?"

"I have!" It was the harsh voice. "It's no more than fair, since I proposed it."

"Oh, it's too horrible! It's too horrible!" sobbed the gentler voice.

He ran out of the room.

"Let him go," said the harsh one. "This is no sight for kids."

"Here's the gun," said the other.

Evan thought: "Well, I won't take it standing still!"

Somewhere behind him the door was open. Putting his head down he charged for it. Instantly half a dozen pairs of hands seized him. He was borne back until he crashed against a wall. He felt of it gratefully. A deep instinctive need was supplied by the feeling of something solid at his back.

"Take your hands off him," said the princ.i.p.al voice.

Evan was freed, but he knew they still stood close beside him. The voice went on peremptorily. "Stand still if you don't want to be pinned against the wall like an insect."

"Unbind my eyes!" cried Evan. "Let me see what's coming to me."

The voice replied in its grim drawl: "Sorry, but we can't let you take mental pictures of us even to the other side."

"You're afraid to face me, you cowards!"

"Maybe. If you want to send any messages I'll transmit them."

Evan s.n.a.t.c.hed at the chance. "I'd like to send a letter."

"All right." There was a pause while the speaker presumably found pencil and paper. "Go ahead."

Evan dictated Charley Straiker's address. "Dear Charl: I have cut loose. I have taken to the trail. You will not see me again. I leave everything I have in my room to you. It will not make you rich. With one exception. I want to send my least-bad picture to a friend. It's the one I call 'Green and Gold,' the view of the Square from my window in the morning light. There's a little frame that fits it. Write on the back of it--write--Oh, don't write anything. Wrap it up and address it to Miss Corinna Playfair. Take it to the steamboat _Ernestina_ which will be lying at the pier foot of East Twentieth street on Sat.u.r.day morning up to Nine-Thirty. Be good, old son.

Here's how. Evan."

"Are you ready?" demanded the harsh voice unexpectedly close.

"Shoot and be d.a.m.ned to you!" said Evan.

He felt a little rim of cold steel pressed against his temple. With that touch all Evan's agony rolled away. After all, what was life but a jest? Thank G.o.d! he was not a coward!

The other man was still speaking--Good G.o.d would he never have done!--"I will give you the word." Then he began to count: "One, two, three----!"

Evan cried gaily: "So long, all!"

"Fire!"

There was a deafening crash. Everything went from him.

CHAPTER XVI

BACK TO EARTH

Like a thin, torn wrack of cloud scurrying across the night sky; like music so far away that the instrument and the air were alike unrecognisable; like an underexposed photograph; like the kiss of wind--such were Evan's vague impressions. "What existence is this?" he asked himself. Consciousness was sweet and he was afraid to question it for fear of slipping back into nothingness. He lay exulting in his sensations.

As these sensations became stronger the questioning spirit would not be denied. "I breathe," he thought. "I feel my breast rise. Therefore I have a body. I hear a sound like the stirring of a breeze among leaves, and another sound, a strange, faint hum. And I see, though I am surrounded by darkness. It is night and out-of-doors."

The feeling of having awakened in a new existence wore off. He accepted that which surrounded him as the same old world. He found that he was lying on a soft bed of leaves in a wood. He was wrapped in a bed covering, a cotton coverlet in fact. He did not recognise it.

He instinctively felt about for his hat and found it near. He stood erect, and found that his legs were able to perform their office. He started to walk blindly through the wood. There were no stars.