something over there where one could see the lighted window and had no idea that he was being bombarded, that with his quick hands he was digging a grave for himself. Was that a step? No one came.
Prokop was rent by a hoarse cough. I’ll give you everything, madman, if you will only come and tell me her name! I want nothing, nothing except to find her. I’ll give you everything if you will only tell me this one thing! His eyes stared into the distance and now she was standing in front of him, veiled, with dry leaves at her feet, pale and extraordinarily serious in this darkness. She twisted her hands on her breast and had already given him the parcel. She looked at him with deep, attentive eyes; her veil and fur were covered with drops of moisture. “You were unforgettably kind to me,” she said softly in a muffled voice. She raised her hands to him and again he was convulsed by a fierce cough. Oh, was nobody coming? He threw himself at the grille, trying to force his way through.
“Stay where you are, or I shoot,” cried the shadow from the other side. “What do you want here?”
Prokop drew back. “Please,” he said desperately in a hoarse voice, “tell Mr. Thomas . . . tell him . . .”
“Tell him yourself,” the voice interrupted him illogically, “but keep away.”
Prokop again squatted down on his heels. Perhaps Thomas would come when his experiment again missed fire. Certainly, he would not be able to discover how Krakatit was prepared; then he would come and call Prokop. . . . He sat hunched up
