"Find her. Or I'll find her myself, and we'll head for the Black Forest without you. Because you'll be dead. I haven't come this far to let you stop me. And chivalry looks a bit funny on a guy like you."
Sudden murder-light flared in the pale eyes.
"Find her!" Brown whispered. "And—fast!"
III
Garth knuckled under. There was nothing else to do. He knew Brown wouldn't hesitate to kill him, and, after all, what the devil did Paula Trent mean to him? Her life was unimportant, compared to the hopeless quest that had quickened in his mind, despite himself.
For Doc Willard might still be alive. Even if he wasn't, there was that notebook the Doc had always carried around with him—a book that contained the medico's theories about the Silver Plague. Even if that ghastly dream-like memory were not merely delirium—even if Garth, witless and unknowing, had killed Willard—there was always that dim, desperate chance that the cure for the Plague might be found in the Black Forest.
So—damn Paula Trent! She didn't matter, when the lives of millions might depend on Garth's penetrating the jungle that had baffled him for five years.
Without a word he turned and started back, Brown keeping close beside him. The huge chamber loomed before them, filled with its cryptic shadows. There was time now to see what they had missed in their quick flight a few moments ago—though not much time, for pursuit might start at any minute.
Dead silence, and darkness, broken by the crossing beams of the brilliant lamps. Garth listened.