That night a dozen of the living of Kormor came to the house of Kroona, the old woman who had befriended us. They were all very old, some of them older than Kroona. They laughed at Kroona's fears that Skor wanted them; and pointed out, as evidently they had many times before, that if it was old bodies Skor wanted he long since could have found them, for their old age was ample evidence that they were of the living. But Kroona insisted that they were all in danger; and I soon realized that it was her pet obsession, without which she would probably be more miserable than she was with it. She got a great thrill out of leading a life of constant danger and hiding first in one house and then in another. But they were all of one opinion that we were in great danger, and the dear old things pledged themselves to help us in every way they could--to bring us food and water and hide us from our enemies. That was all that they could do, for none of them believed that it was possible to escape from Kormor. * * * * * Early the following morning a very old man, one of the visitors of the previous evening, hobbled into the house. He was perturbed and greatly excited. His palsied hands were trembling. "They are searching the city for you," he whispered. "There is a terrible story of what you did to Skor and of what Skor will do to you when he finds you. All night and all day last night he lay bound and helpless where you left him; then one of his creatures found and released him. Now the whole city is being scoured for you. They may be here any minute." "What can we do?" asked Duare, "Where can we hide?" "You can do nothing," said the old man, "but wait until they come. There is no place in all Kormor that they will not search." "We can do something," said Nalte; then she turned to our informant. "Can you get us paints such as the corpses use to make themselves appear like living men?" "Yes," said the old man. "Well, go quickly and fetch them," urged Nalte. The old man hobbled out of the room, mumbling to himself. "It is the only way, Nalte," I cried. "I believe that if he returns in time we can fool them; dead men are not very bright." It seemed a long time before the old man came back; but he came finally, and he brought a large box of make-up with him. It was quite an elaborate affair which he said that he had obtained from a friend of his, a living man, whose craft was applying the make-up to corpses. Quickly Nalte went to work on Duare and soon had transformed her into an old woman with lines and wrinkles and hollows. The hair was the most difficult problem to solve, but we finally succeeded in approximating the results we desired, though we used up all of the cosmetician's white pigment, rubbing it into our hair.