cage　or　a　mouse　inside　a　trap。〃
  It　was　she　who　served　him　the　food；　of　which　he　was　glad；　though
  with　those　big　slanting　black　eyes　examining　him　at　close　range；　as
  if　he　had　something　curious　written　on　his　face；　she　gave　him　an
  uncomfortable　sensation。　　But　anything　was　better　than　being
  approached　by　these　blear…eyed　nightmarish　witches。　　His
  apprehensions　somehow　had　been　soothed；　perhaps　by　the　sensation　of
  warmth　after　severe　exposure　and　the　ease　of　resting　after　the
  exertion　of　fighting　the　gale　inch　by　inch　all　the　way。　　He　had　no
  doubt　of　Tom's　safety。　　He　was　now　sleeping　in　the　mountain　camp
  having　been　met　by　Gonzales'　men。
  Byrne　rose；　filled　a　tin　goblet　with　wine　out　of　a　skin　hanging　on
  the　wall；　and　sat　down　again。　　The　witch　with　the　mummy　face　began
  to　talk　to　him；　ramblingly　of　old　times；　she　boasted　of　the　inn's
  fame　in　those　better　days。　　Great　people　in　their　own　coaches
  stopped　there。　　An　archbishop　slept　once　in　the　CASA；　a　long；　long
  time　ago。
  The　witch　with　the　puffy　face　seemed　to　be　listening　from　her
  stool；　motionless；　except　for　the　trembling　of　her　head。　　The　girl
  （Byrne　was　certain　she　was　a　casual　gipsy　admitted　there　for　some
  reason　or　other）　sat　on　the　hearth　stone　in　the　glow　of　the　embers。
  She　hummed　a　tune　to　herself；　rattling　a　pair　of　castanets　slightly
  now　and　then。　　At　the　mention　of　the　archbishop　she　chuckled
  impiously　and　turned　her　head　to　look　at　Byrne；　so　that　the　red
  glow　of　the　fire　flashed　in　her　black　eyes　and　on　her　white　teeth
  under　the　dark　cowl　of　the　enormous　overmantel。　　And　he　smiled　at
  her。
  He　rested　now　in　the　ease　of　security。　　His　advent　not　having　been
  expected　there　could　be　no　plot　against　him　in　existence。
  Drowsiness　stole　upon　his　senses。　　He　enjoyed　it；　but　keeping　a
  hold；　so　he　thought　at　least；　on　his　wits；　but　he　must　have　been
  gone　further　than　he　thought　because　he　was　startled　beyond　measure
  by　a　fiendish　uproar。　　He　had　never　heard　anything　so　pitilessly
  strident　in　his　life。　　The　witches　had　started　a　fierce　quarrel
  about　something　or　other。　　Whatever　its　origin　they　were　now　only
  abusing　each　other　violently；　without　arguments；　their　senile
  screams　expressed　nothing　but　wicked　anger　and　ferocious　dismay。
  The　gipsy　girl's　black　eyes　flew　from　one　to　the　other。　　Never
  before　had　Byrne　felt　himself　so　removed　from　fellowship　with　human
  beings。　　Before　he　had　really　time　to　understand　the　subject　of　the
  quarrel；　the　girl　jumped　up　rattling　her　castanets　loudly。　　A
  silence　fell。　　She　came　up　to　the　table　and　bending　over；　her　eyes
  in　his　…
  〃Senor；〃　she　said　with　decision；　〃You　shall　sleep　in　the
  archbishop's　room。〃
  Neither　of　the　witches　objected。　　The　dried…up　one　bent　double　was
  propped　on　a　stick。　　The　puffy　faced　one　had　now　a　crutch。
  Byrne　got　up；　walked　to　the　door；　and　turning　the　key　in　the
  enormous　lock　put　it　coolly　in　his　pocket。　　This　was　clearly　the
  only　entrance；　and　he　did　not　mean　to　be　taken　unawares　by　whatever
  danger　there　might　have　been　lurking　outside。
  When　he　turned　from　the　door　he　saw　the　two　witches　〃affiliated　to
  the　Devil〃　and　the　Satanic　girl　looking　at　him　in　silence。　　He
  wondered　if　Tom　Corbin　took　the　same　precaution　last　might。　　And
  thinking　of　him　he　had　again　that　queer　impression　of　his　nearness。
  The　world　was　perfectly　dumb。　　And　in　this　stillness　he　heard　the
  blood　beating　in　his　ears　with　a　confused　rushing　noise；　in　which
  there　seemed　to　be　a　voice　uttering　the　words：　　〃Mr。　Byrne；　look
  out；　sir。〃　　Tom's　voice。　　He　shuddered；　for　the　delusions　of　the
  senses　of　hearing　are　the　most　vivid　of　all；　and　from　their　nature
  have　a　compelling　character。
  It　seemed　impossible　that　Tom　should　not　be　there。　　Again　a　slight
  chill　as　of　stealthy　draught　penetrated　through　his　very　clothes
  and　passed　over　all　his　body。　　He　shook　off　the　impression　with　an
  effort。
  It　was　the　girl　who　preceded　him　upstairs　carrying　an　iron　lamp
  from　the　naked　flame　of　which　ascended　a　thin　thread　of　smoke。　　Her
  soiled　white　stockings　were　full　of　holes。
  With　the　same　quiet　resolution　with　which　he　had　locked　the　door
  below；　Byrne　threw　open　one　after　another　the　doors　in　the
  corridor。　　All　the　rooms　were　empty　except　for　some　nondescript
  lumber　in　one　or　two。　　And　the　girl　seeing　what　he　would　be　at
  stopped　every　time；　raising　the　smoky　light　in　each　doorway
  patiently。　　Meantime　she　observed　him　with　sustained　attention。
  The　last　door　of　all　she　threw　open　herself。
  〃You　sleep　here；　senor；〃　she　murmured　in　a　voice　light　like　a
  child's　breath；　offering　him　the　lamp。
  〃BUENOS　NOCHES；　SENORITA；〃　he　said　politely；　taking　it　from　her。
  She　didn't　return　the　wish　audibly；　though　her　lips　did　move　a
  little；　while　her　gaze　black　like　a　starless　night　never　for　a
  moment　wavered　before　him。　　He　stepped　in；　and　as　he　turned　to
  close　the　door　she　was　still　there　motionless　and　disturbing；　with
  her　voluptuous　mouth　and　slanting　eyes；　with　the　expression　of
  expectant　sensual　ferocity　of　a　baffled　cat。　　He　hesitated　for　a
  moment；　and　in　the　dumb　house　he　heard　again　the　blood　pulsating
  ponderously　in　his　ears；　while　once　more　the　illusion　of　Tom's
  voice　speaking　earnestly　somewhere　near　by　was　specially
  terrifying；　because　this　time　he　could　not　make　out　the　words。
  He　slammed　the　door　in　the　girl's　face　at　last；　leaving　her　in　the
  dark；　and　he　opened　it　again　almost　on　the　instant。　　Nobody。　　She
  had　vanished　without　the　slightest　sound。　　He　closed　the　door
  quickly　and　bolted　it　with　two　heavy　bolts。
  A　profound　mistrust　possessed　him　suddenly。　　Why　did　the　witches
  quarrel　about　letting　him　sleep　here？　　And　what　meant　that　stare　of
  the　girl　as　if　she　wanted　to　impress　his　features　for　ever　in　her
  mind？　　His　own　nervousness　alarmed　him。　　He　seemed　to　himself　to　be
  removed　very　far　from　mankind。
  He　examined　his　room。　　It　was　not　very　high；　just　high　enough　to
  take　the　bed　which　stood　under　an　enormous　baldaquin…like　canopy
  from　which　fell　heavy　curtains　at　foot　and　head；　a　bed　certainly
  worthy　of　an　archbishop。　　There　was　a　heavy　table　carved　all　round
  the　edges；　some　arm…chairs　of　enormous　weight　like　the　spoils　of　a
  grandee's　palace；　a　tall　shallow　wardrobe　placed　against　the　wall
  and　with　double　doors。　　He　tried　them。　　Locked。　　A　suspicion　came
  into　his　mind；　and　he　snatched　the　lamp　to　make　a　closer
  examination。　　No；　it　was　not　a　disguised　entrance。　　That　heavy；
  tall　piece　of　furniture　stood　clear　of　the　wall　by　quite　an　inch。
  He　glanced　at　the　bolts　of　his　room　door。　　No！　　No　one　could　get　at
  him　treacherously　while　he　slept。　　But　would　he　be　able　to　sleep？
  he　asked　himself　anxiously。　　If　only　he　had　Tom　there　…　the　trusty
  seaman　who　had　fought　at　his　right　hand　in　a　cutting　out　affair　or
  two；　and　had　always　preached　to　him　the　necessity　to　take　care　of
  himself。　　〃For　it's　no　great　trick；〃　he　used　to　say；　〃to　get
  yourself　killed　in　a　hot　fight。　　Any　fool　can　do　that。　　The　proper
  pastime　is　to　fight　the　Frenchies　and　then　live　to　fight　another
  day。〃
  Byrne　found　it　a　hard　matter　not　to　fall　into　listening　to　the
  silence。　　Somehow　he　had　the　conviction　that　nothing　would　break　it
  unless　he　heard　again　the　haunting　sound　of　Tom's　voice。　　He　had
  heard　it　twice　before。　　Odd！　　And　yet　no　wonder；　he　argued　with
  himself　reasonably；　since　he　had　been　thinking　of　the　man　for　over
  thirty　hours　continuously　and；　what's　more；　inconclusively。　　For
  his　anxiety　for　Tom　had　never　taken　a　definite　shape。　　〃Disappear；〃
  was　the　only　word　connected　with　the　idea　of　Tom's　danger。　　It　was
  very　vague　and　awful。　　〃Disappear！〃　　What　did　that　mean？
  Byrne　shuddered；　and　then　said　to　himself　that　he　must　be　a　little
  feverish。　　But　Tom　had　not　disappeared。　　Byrne　had　just　heard　of
  him。　　And　again　the　young　man　felt　the　blood　beating　in　his　ears。
  He　sat　still　expecting　every　moment　to　hear　through　the　pulsating
  strokes　the　sound　of　Tom's　voice。　　He　waited　straining　his　ears；
  but　nothing　came。　　Suddenly　the　thought　occurred　to　him：　　〃He　has
  not　disappeared；　but　he　cannot　make　himself　heard。〃
  He　jumped　up　from　the　arm…chair。　　How　absurd！　　Laying　his　pistol
  and　his　hanger　on　the　table　he　took　off　his　boots　and；　feeling
  suddenly　too　tired　to　stand；　flung　himself　on　the　bed　which　he
  found　soft　and　comfortable　beyond　his　hopes。
  He　had　felt　very　wakeful；　but　he　must　have　dozed　off　after　all；
  because　the　next　thing　he　knew　he　was　sitting　up　in　bed　and　trying
  to　recollect　what　it　was　that　Tom's　voice　had　said。　　Oh！　　He
  remembered　it　now。　　It　had　said：　　〃Mr。　Byrne！　　Look　out；　sir！〃　　A
  warning　this。　　But　aga