"Well, at least I'm glad we're agreed," declared Gates, who, to tell the truth, was a little surprised at Dunbar's sudden manifestation of decent feeling. "Wouldn't we be imbeciles not to be," Dunbar drawled, running a lean, long-fingered hand reflectively across his jutting chin. "All comes down, I guess, to a question of saving our own hides. As for me--I never did exactly hanker to shine as a martyr." "Martyr?" echoed Gates. And all at once he knew the full enormity of Dunbar's treason--yes, knew beyond all need for further questioning! At the same time, he noticed Eleanor's nauseated look. "Goddamn it, Ronny, mean to say I got you wrong? So you folks are not with me after all?" demanded Dunbar, incredulously. "Deuce take you! I never thought you were that crazy!" "If you call it crazy not to betray your whole race--" "I'd like to know what in hell my whole race has ever done for me!" retorted Dunbar. "Lot it'll help them if I let myself be ground to bits by those snaky dragons! No, sirree, you can play the saint if you want to--but I'll think you're both hell-blasted fools. As for me--I'll co-operate--and live!" "I'd rather be a hell-blasted fool than live with the world's blood on my hands. Wouldn't you, Eleanor?" "A thousand times over!" attested the girl. And in her animated eyes, as she nodded assent, there was a warmth Gates hadn't observed in them before. "You're letting your feelings rule you, Ronny, not your mind!" swore Dunbar. "That's the trouble with you--too infernal much of a dreamer! Can't face reality! Why, haven't I seen it in you all along? You haven't got the guts of a jellyfish! That's why I've despised you!" * * * * * There it was out in the open again, their antagonism flaring white-hot. Somehow it seemed strange, ludicrous that the three of them should be perched here, on the rim of eternity as it were, and be doing nothing better than air their personal enmities. Yet, after all, did Gates not know that Dunbar had always loathed him? It was Eleanor's voice that broke the brief, bristling silence. Struggling to gain control of herself, she cast a defiant glance at Dunbar. "You are badly mistaken, Philip!" she defended, crisply, "if you think Ronald hasn't got, as you say, the guts of a jellyfish. I guess it doesn't take so much guts to be a traitor, the way you're planning, Mr. Dunbar! And let us both die while you go pleasantly along your way!" Tears were in the girl's eyes; she had to avert her face violently to prevent a telltale overflow. Dunbar's answer was a low, gruff laugh.