“King,” said the Captain sadly and a little dryly, “how did you come to fall for your own goods?”
The other looked up wanly and again tried to smile. It was long before he comprehended what had been said, but at length he began murmuring: “I really can’t say—no, I can’t. It seems—such a long time....” And after another somnolent pause he asked: “What did I say?”
“We won’t go into it tonight,” sighed Captain Utterbourne, rising heavily. “Go to sleep, King. In the morning we’ll try to get at more of the facts.”
Then a look of groping alarm came into the face of the White Kami, and he began beating his hands together. “I wish you wouldn’t go away!” he pleaded. “Only a little while after you’re gone, they’ll begin to come in for the night!” His eyes smouldered wildly. “Don’t go away just yet. I—I’ll see if I can answer your question—if you’ll wait.” He beat his fists against his head, but rather coaxingly than savagely. The veins stood out as he made a terrific effort at concentration. “Yes!” His face lighted faintly. “It was about the opium. Not the crop—no....” He shook his head, as though patiently arguing with himself. “Me—me! Wasn’t that what you wanted? At first—at first I used very little. Yes—don’t go away! I’m—going to tell you how it was. It was—Tsuda.... I guess he uses a little now and then, too. Perhaps some day you’ll want to try—a jaunt. In that case.... What was I saying? Did I say Tsuda? Yes—that’s right. That’s right.... I kept telling myself,” he rambled, his manner growing more and more agitated, and wilder, with an inflection of impatience, “I’d quit—I’d quit....” Then, his tone growing warm and dreamy, and fresh tears springing to his eyes: “We were going to settle down—in some little ... in some little place where nothing much ever happens—but it seems sometimes—no, don’t go! I try to hold on, and my fingers ... my fingers keep slipping off....” He regarded his fingers ruefully, flexing them at the joints in a childish way. His expression grew very dull and hopeless. “The lamp,” he muttered. “Would you mind—looking? I’m afraid the oil’s very low.”
“Never mind, King,” said Utterbourne huskily. “In the morning....”
But he paused in his departure, and saw with amazement a look of swift and convulsing terror leap into the other’s eyes. It was almost as though flames darted from them, as King cried:
“In at the windows and doors—they’ll come—all of them—together!”
And he sprang up, screaming. He beat at the air with mill-like motions, his eyes starting from his head in an ecstasy of horror. He darted over to the table and seized the knife. His cries were the kind that must live on forever. As he approached Utterbourne, he raised the knife tremblingly in the air, and said:
“If you try to leave me—I’ll kill you!”