He crossed with the traffic light, hands in his pockets, a man just strolling along on a pleasant evening. But his gray eyes were alert and grim. Vivid in his mind was the memory of a man in a hospital bed, a man who breathed and yet was not alive. The park swallowed him. He walked directly toward the memorial pavilion, moving without haste, without apparent purpose or destination. The pavilion took shape in the quiet gloom, a temple-like place of flowerbeds and radiating walks. On the benches around it was a scattering of romantic couples and lonely men sprawled in sleep. The atmosphere was one of serenity and peace. To Bryan it seemed briefly incredible that danger could threaten here. Yet in this vicinity three men had been struck down by something that had left them mere shells of flesh without the will to live. He made a complete circuit of the pavilion without a glimpse of anything unusual or suspicious. Finally, choosing a bench thick in shadow and partly screened by bushes, he sat down to wait. Time passed slowly in the lulling murmur of leaves and the distant drone of passing automobiles. The sleeping men on neighboring benches awoke one by one, stretched, and plodded away into the darkness. The spooning couples shared a last embrace and vanished in turn. Before much longer the benches around Bryan were deserted. But he knew that other persons might still be lingering in spots not visible to him. The quiet had deepened. Bryan shifted cramped and protesting muscles and peered impatiently at the radium dial of his watch. The hour was already a late one. Soon it would be too late for what he had hoped would happen. Everyone would have left the neighborhood of the pavilion. Hope was fading in Bryan, but he forced himself to remain where he was. More time passed. A deep somnolent hush lay over the pavilion. Even the continual rustling of leaves now seemed muted and remote. The sky pressed down, a soft dark blanket lavishly strewn with points of brilliance. In the silver gloom the lamps spaced along the walks shone with an ethereal phosphorescent quality. Bryan slumped on the bench in resignation. He was certain now that nothing would happen. Not tonight, at least. And in his disappointment he wondered if there had been some warning of his presence. Or had what he had been waiting for already taken place, without his having been aware of it? His tiredness blunted the question. Rest seemed more important now. He'd go to his furnished room and sleep. This was just the first night. There would be other nights. He'd wait and watch until something finally happened. But right now there was no further need for caution. He could have a smoke. He could stand up to ease his aching muscles. * * * * *