“In return you shall have your heart’s desire.” “Doubted.” “Isn’t the dearest wish of your soul to drive me out of Caracuña?” “Hum! Well—er—yes. Yes; of course it is.” “Very well. If you can get dad’s message on the wire to Washington, he thinks the Secretary of State, who is his friend, can reach the Dutch and have them open up the blockade for us.” “Time apparently meaning nothing to him.” “Would it take much time?” “About four days to a wire.” She gazed at him in amazement. “And you were willing to give up four days to carry my message through, ‘unsight—unseen,’ as we children used to say?” “Willing enough, but not able to. I’d have got a messenger through with it, if necessary. But in four days, there’ll be other obstacles besides the Dutch.” “Quarantine?” “Yes.” “I thought that had to wait for Dr. Pruyn.” “Pruyn’s here. That’s a secret, Miss Brewster.” “Do you know _everything?_ Has he found plague?” “Ah, I don’t say that. But he will find it, for it’s certainly here. I satisfied myself of that yesterday.” “From your beggar friend?” “What made you think that, O most acute observer?” “What else would you be talking to him of, with such interest?” “You’re correct. Bubonic always starts in the poor quarters. To know how people die, you have to know how they live. So I cultivated my beggar friend and listened to the gossip of quick funerals and unexplained disappearances. I’d have had some real arguments to present to Mr. Brewster if he had cared to listen.” “He’ll listen to Dr. Pruyn. They’re old friends.” “No! Are they?” “Yes. Since college days. So perhaps the quarantine will be easier to get through than the blockade.” “Do you think so? I’m afraid you’ll find that pull doesn’t work with the service that Dr. Pruyn is in.” “And you think that there will be quarantine within four days?” “Almost sure to be.” “Then, of course, I needn’t trouble you with the message.” “Don’t jump at conclusions. There might be another and quicker way.” “Wireless?” she asked quickly. “No wireless on the island. No. This way you’ll just have to trust me for.” “I’ll trust you for anything you say you can do.” “But I don’t say I can. I say only that I’ll try.” “That’s enough for me. Ready! Now, brace yourself. I’m coming down.” “Wh—why—wait! Can’t you send it down?” “No. Besides, you _know_ you want to see me. No use pretending, after last time. Remember your verse now, and I’ll come slowly.” Solemnly he began:— “Scarab, tarantula, neurop—” “‘Doodle-bug,’” she prompted severely. “—doodle-bug, flea,”— he concluded obediently. “Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea. Scarab, tarantula, doodle—” “Oof! I—I—didn’t think you’d be here so soon!” He scrambled to his feet, hardly less palpitating than on the occasion of their first encounter. “Hopeless!” she mourned. “Incurable! Wanted: a miracle of St. Vitus. Do stop nibbling your hat, and sit down.”