A constellation of red and green taillights was vanishing over the rise ahead. "About three miles to Bayport," he continued. "What should I do?" "Just get to Bayport a little ahead of her, and stop at the bus station." "O.K." They overtook the bus and swung around it. The windows were too high for Norman to see any of the occupants. Besides, the interior lights were out. As they drew ahead, Alec nodded confirmingly. "That's her all right." * * * * * The bus station at Bayport was also the railway depot. Vaguely Norman remembered the loosely planked platform and packed cinders on the track side. The station building was dark, but there were several cars and a lone local cab drawn up, and there were some men standing around talking in low voices, and a couple of soldiers going back to camp. He had time to scent the salt air, with its faint and not unpleasant trace of fishiness. Then the bus pulled in. Several passengers stepped down, looking around to spot the people waiting for them. Tansy was the third. She was staring straight ahead. She was carrying the pigskin suitcase. "Tansy!" he said. She did not look at him. He noted a black stain on her right hand, and remembered the spilled ink on his study table. Odd that it should still be there. "Tansy!" he said. "Tansy!" She walked straight past him, so close that her sleeve brushed his. "Tansy, what's the matter with you?" He had turned and hurried after her. She was heading for the local cab. He was conscious of a silence, and curious unfriendly glances. It made him angry. She did not slacken her pace. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her around. He heard a remonstratory murmur behind him, and realized that a couple of the men were closing in. "Tansy, stop acting this way! Tansy!" Her face looked frozen. She stared past him without a hint of recognition in her eyes. That infuriated him. He did not pause to think. Accumulated tensions prodded him into an explosion. He grabbed both elbows and shook her. She still looked past him, completely aloof--a perfect picture of an aristocratic woman enduring brutality. If she had yelled and fought him, the men might not have interfered. He was jerked back. "Lay off her!" "Who do you think you are, anyway?" She stood there, with maddening composure. He noticed a scrap of paper flutter out of her hand. Then her eyes met his and for one terrible moment--but one moment only--he saw rise up behind her a shaggy black form twice her height, with hulking shoulders, out-stretched massive hands, and dully glowing eyes. Only a moment, though. Then she turned away. But he fancied that a great shadow followed hers. Then they swung him around and he could no longer see her. * * * * * In a queer sort of daze--for the kind of fear he had just experienced mixes badly with any other emotion--he listened to them jabber at him.