Still squatting on his heels, Comstock looked unseeingly off into the distance and wondered what in the name of The Grandfather the answer to the lunatic's question could be. He was something or someone called Comstock, he was sure of that. But how could he know he was Comstock, for sure, that is? He was so engrossed that he did not even hear the Picaroon's mad giggle as the man said to Pat, "See ... see what my little question did to him? That's what happened to the first four doctors who examined me!" He laughed again. "That was when the Fathers decided that I was a madman and that my only cure was to become a criminal." Worry made itself visible on Pat's face as she turned from looking at Comstock who was completely withdrawn inside himself. She looked down at their captive and asked, "Who were you before you became the Picaroon?" The harsh piratical face lost its Harlequinesque self-derision as the man said, "I was the last philosopher." CHAPTER 12 There was something so infinitely sad in the man's words that Pat was emotionally moved. Not knowing what a philosopher might be did not prevent her from feeling sorry that the bound man had been the last of whatever it was that he had been. Comstock never knew about the conversation that the quondam Picaroon had with Pat, for all the while that the girl and the bound man talked, Comstock was in a little world of his own trying to chase down the reality of his own existence. Sitting on the ground next to the man who called himself the Picaroon and the last philosopher, Pat found herself involved in a discussion of what the man spoke of as the eternal verities. The sun rose higher and higher in the sky, noon came and went while Comstock went deeper and deeper into himself searching for the answer that does not exist. When he had not moved for many hours, Pat tore herself away from what she was being told and asked, "What can I do for him?" For the first time in many hours the philosopher gave place to the Picaroon and the madman, laughing gleefully as he said, "All you need do is find the answer for which he is questing. That will bring him out of the grey world into which the question has driven him." Looking at Comstock, Pat felt fear like a live thing. There was no intelligence on his soft face. None at all. His eyes were unfocussed, his breathing very slow. His arms were hooked around his knees which were drawn up towards his chest. He had fallen over on his side. Luckily Pat had no idea of what the foetal position looks like or she would have been even more frightened than she was. Pat asked hesitantly, "Will you tell me the answer so that I can help him come back?" Then the madman threw his lean face back and howled. Wringing her hands, Pat wondered what had come over the man who such a short time before had told her wonderful things of which she had never dreamed.