"Legion," Foster said, "I think you'd better write down what I'm going to tell you. It's important--vitally important. I won't waste time with preliminaries. The notebook I showed you--it's in my jacket. You must read the English portion of it. Afterwards, what I'm about to say may make more sense." "I hope you don't feel your last will and testament coming on, Mr. Foster," I said. "Not before you tell me what that was we were both so eager to get away from." "I'll be frank with you," Foster said flatly. "I don't know." * * * * * Foster wheeled into the dark drive of a silent service station, eased to a stop, set the brake, and slumped back in the seat. "Do you mind driving for a while, Legion?" he said. "I'm not feeling very well." "Sure, I'll drive," I said. I opened the door and got out and went around to his side. Foster sat limply, eyes closed, his face drawn and strained. He looked older than he had last night--years older. The night's experiences hadn't taken anything off my age, either. Foster opened his eyes, looked at me blankly. He seemed to gather himself with an effort. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not myself." He moved over and I got in the driver's seat. "If you're sick," I said, "we'd better find a doctor." "No, it's all right," he said blurrily. "Just keep going...." "We're a hundred and fifty miles from Mayport now," I said. Foster turned to me, started to say something--and slumped in a dead faint. I grabbed for his pulse; it was strong and steady. I rolled up an eyelid and a dilated pupil stared sightlessly. He was all right--I hoped. But the thing to do was get him in bed and call a doctor. We were at the edge of a small town. I let the brake off and drove slowly into town, swung around the corner and pulled in in front of the sagging marquee of a rundown hotel. Foster stirred as I cut the engine. "Foster," I said. "I'm going to get you into a bed. Can you walk?" He groaned softly and opened his eyes. They were glassy. I got out and got him to the sidewalk. He was still half out. I walked him into the dingy lobby and over to a reception counter where a dim bulb burned. I dinged the bell. It was a minute before an old man shuffled out from where he'd been sleeping. He yawned, eyed me suspiciously, looked at Foster. "We don't want no drunks here," he said. "Respectable house." "My friend is sick," I said. "Give me a double with bath. And call a doctor." "What's he got?" the old man said. "Ain't contagious, is it?" "That's what I want a doctor to tell me." "I can't get the doc 'fore in the morning. And we got no private bathrooms."