"We leave the car here?"
"We'll have to." He turned his searchlight on the cliff ahead. "There's a path yonder."
"And which shack, I wonder?"
"There's a light in only one."
Frank worked his stiffened face to relieve the feeling of cold contorted rubber and followed Kenny up the path. Light glimmered dimly through the jungle of frost upon the shack window. Fronded whitely by the sleet, the panes loomed out of the dark like an incandescent series of camera plates, bizarre and oriental. Frank shivered in the wind.
Doctor Cole opened the door. Beyond in the rude room of the shack a lamp flared smokily.
"Brian?" said Kenny, his color gone.
"Why," said Doctor Cole, "his pulse is a lot stronger, Mr. O'Neill, and he complains now of pain—"
"That means?"
"It means, Kenny," said Frank Barrington, "that he has passed on normally to the stage of reaction." But his keen, intelligent eyes sought Doctor Cole with a furtive lifting of his brows and asked a question.