Then they sat watching the pictures, Satan criticizing the actors sometimes, and in a loud voice and not always favorably. The cowboy shot himself off the screen, the lights flared up for half a minute, went out, and the pictures resumed.
Ratcliffe felt a nudge, and in the darkness Satan’s voice, muted now, came in his ear.
“Say,” whispered Satan, “did you see him?”
“Who?”
“The man that dropped you at Pa’m Island.”
“Skelton!”
“That’s him. He’s sittin’ right a front of you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure as sure.”
Skelton here! But where, then, was the Dryad? Had he wrecked her, or what?