"No.... There was a comrade of mine—a Frenchman—Jacques Renouf. He was like you; he saw."
"Is he living?—I mean as we are?"
"No."
"Was he tall, olive-skinned, black-bearded—"
"Yes," said Dane coolly; "did you see him just now?"
"Yes."
"I wondered.... There are moments when I seem to feel his presence. I was thinking of him just now. We were on the upper Amazon together last winter."
"How did he die?"
"He'd been off by himself all day. About five o'clock he came into camp with a poisoned arrow
broken off behind his shoulder-blade. He seemed dazed and stupefied; but at moments I had an idea that he was trying to tell us something."