VI

           Thesunhadset.Andwhen,afterdrillingadeepholewithhisstick,hemovedfromthatspotthenighthadmasseditsarmyofshadowsunderthetrees.Theyfilledtheeasternendsoftheavenuesasifonlywaitingthesignalforageneraladvanceupontheopenspacesoftheworld;theyweregatheringlowbetweenthedeepstone-facedbanksofthecanal.TheMalayprau,half-concealedunderthearchofthebridge,hadnotaltereditspositionaquarterofaninch.ForalongtimeCaptainWhalleystareddownovertheparapet,tillatlastthefloatingimmobilityofthatbeshroudedthingseemedtogrowuponhimintosomethinginexplicableandalarming.Thetwilightabandonedthezenith;itsreflectedgleamslefttheworldbelow,andthewaterofthecanalseemedtoturnintopitch.CaptainWhalleycrossedit.

           Theturningtotheright,whichwashiswaytohishotel,wasonlyaveryfewstepsfarther.Hestoppedagain(allthehousesofthesea-frontwereshutup,thequaysidewasdeserted,butforoneortwofiguresofnativeswalkinginthedistance)andbegantoreckontheamountofhisbill.Somanydaysinthehotelatsomanydollarsaday.Tocountthedaysheusedhisfingers:plungingonehandintohispocket,hejingledafewsilvercoins.Allrightforthreedaysmore;andthen,unlesssomethingturnedup,hemustbreakintothefivehundred—Ivy’smoney—investedinherfather.Itseemedtohimthatthefirstmealcomingoutofthatreservewouldchokehim—forcertain.Reasonwasofnouse.Itwasamatteroffeeling.Hisfeelingshadneverplayedhimfalse.

           Hedidnotturntotheright.