"Who is it?"
"The fellow we've suspected all along. Poses as an ignorant laborer, but he's not ignorant by a long shot. His name is Hank Norden."
Masters pointed toward a clump of bushes. As he did, he caught the captain's arm with his left hand. The bushes were moving.
A black hole appeared at the base of the bushes and from it emerged the head and shoulders of a man. Taylor drew his pistol. The man's head turned, searching the shadows to see if he was observed. He failed to detect the figures of Taylor and Masters, huddled nearby in the shadows.
The man scrambled from the hole. He closed the trap door behind him and then started to move rapidly away.
"Halt!" barked Taylor.
The man began to run. The captain's pistol spat, kicking up dust beside the running feet. The fleeing man jumped to one side, to spoil Taylor's aim on the next shot, but as he did so, he stumbled and fell.
A moment later Taylor had landed on top of him, pinning him to the ground.
The faded moonlight showed angry eyes, a jutting, undershot jaw and a sharp, pointed nose.
"Damn you!" spat the captive.