[CHAPTER III]
THE FEVER OF NEOPALIA
I looked for a moment on the old man’s pale, clean-cut, aristocratic face; then I shook his attendant by the arm vigorously. She awoke with a start.
‘What does this mean?’ I demanded. ‘Who is he?’
‘Heaven help us! Who are you?’ she cried, leaping up in alarm. Indeed we four, with our eager fierce faces, must have looked disquieting enough.
‘I am Lord Wheatley; these are my friends,’ I answered in brisk sharp tones.
‘What, it is you, then—?’ A wondering gaze ended her question.
‘Yes, yes, it is I. I have bought the island. We came out for a walk and—’
‘But he will kill you if he finds you here.’
‘He? Who?’