Dalrymple raised his eyes suddenly again, as though he were irritated.
"I say," he began, interrupting his companion. "Do you feel anything? Anything queer in your head?"
"No. Why?"
"You are talking rather disconnectedly, that is all."
"Am I? It did not strike me that I was incoherent. Probably one half of me was asleep while the other was talking." He laughed drily, and drank again. "No," he said thoughtfully, as he set down his glass. "I feel nothing unusual in my head. It would be odd if I did, considering that we have only just begun."
"So I thought," answered Dalrymple.
He ordered more wine and relapsed into silence. Neither spoke again for a long time.
"There goes another bottle," said Dalrymple, at last, as he drained the last drops from the flagon measure. "Drink a little faster. This is slow work. We know the old road well enough."
"You are not inclined to give up the attempt, are you?" inquired Griggs, whose still face showed no change. "Is it fair to eat? I am hungry."
"Certainly. Eat as much as you like."