"We don't know what we're looking for either," I said. "Unless you think maybe we'll meet the Hunters hiding under a loose stone." "You say that sardonically," Foster said. "But I don't consider it impossible." "I know," I said. "You've convinced yourself that the Hunters were after us back at Mayport when we ran off like a pair of idiots." "From what you've told me of the circumstances--" Foster began. "I know; you don't consider it impossible. That's the trouble with you; you don't consider anything impossible. It would make life a lot easier for me if you'd let me rule out a few items--like leprechauns who hang out at Stonehenge." Foster looked at me, half-smiling. It had only been a few weeks since he woke up from a nap looking like a senior class president who hadn't made up his mind whether to be a preacher or a movie star but he had already lost that mild, innocent air. He learned fast, and day by day I had seen his old personality re-emerge and--in spite of my attempts to hold onto the ascendency--dominate our partnership. "It's a failing of your culture," Foster said, "that hypothesis becomes dogma almost overnight. You're too close to your neolithic, when the blind acceptance of tribal lore had survival value. Having learned to evoke the fire god from sticks, by rote, you tend to extend the principle to all 'established facts'." "Here's an established fact for you," I said. "We've got fifteen pounds left--that's about forty dollars. It's time we figured out where to go from here, before somebody starts checking up on those phoney papers of ours." Foster shook his head. "I'm not satisfied that we've exhausted the possibilities here. I've been studying the geometric relationships between the various structures; I have some ideas I want to check. I think it might be a good idea to go out at night, when we can work without the usual crowd of tourists observing every move. We'll have a bite to eat here and wait until dark to start out." * * * * * The publican brought us plates of cold meat and potato salad. I worked on a thin but durable slice of ham and thought about all the people, somewhere, who were sitting down now to gracious meals in the glitter of crystal and silver. I was getting farther from my island all the time--And it was nobody's fault but mine. "The Ancient Sinner," I said. "That's me." Foster looked up. "Curious names these old pubs have," he said. "I suppose in some cases the origins are lost in antiquity." "Why don't they think up something cheery," I said. "Like 'The Paradise Bar and Grill' or 'The Happy Hour Cafe'. Did you notice the sign hanging outside?" "No." "A picture of a skeleton. He's holding one hand up like a Yankee evangelist prophesying doom. You can see it through the window there." Foster turned and looked out at the weathered sign creaking in the evening wind. He looked at it for a long time. There was a strange look around his eyes.