I saw defeat written upon his face, but there was no sign of fear. He stood alone, unarmed, confronting me, and if he had fled when he saw that his cause was lost I do him the justice to believe it was his undaunted will which drove him to flight, that he might plan new havoc for the world.
No chance remained for him. By the glare of the searchlights I saw the last vestige of rout end at the Temple doors. Trapped and surrounded, the Guard begged for quarter. This was accorded them; but instantly the prisoners were lost to sight in the presence of the enormous multitudes that came from London, swarming into the courts.
Sanson’s gaze shifted from my face to Esther’s, and, as if she felt the man’s presence, she stirred, and her eyelids unclosed.
“Yes, dear,” I answered, bending over her.
“I dreamed that—they had run up the annex thirty stories, Arnold, and painted it shining white.”
“You must sleep and dream no more,” I told her. She murmured and her eyelids closed. Again the kindly unconsciousness of sleep held her.
I placed her against the anchored airplane and turned to Sanson. He was facing me with that strange and half-quizzical look that I remembered so well. It had in it more of humanity than the expression of any other of his moods.
“Arnold,” he said softly, “if I were an ignorant man I might be tempted to believe that there is a God, sometimes.”
And that was his way also, to speak of other things in moments of imminent alarm.
“Because He is so merciful to His defectives, Arnold. To think that you, with your missing five centimeters, should have defeated me!
“Come,” he continued, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “A truce for a few minutes. A truce, for the sake of our old friendship. You are not to blame for your share in this night’s ruin of civilization. You were the victim of circumstances. And then—you are a defective and could not understand. Arnold, I have never had any friend but you. And sometimes I feel the need of one. Even the gods felt that, and I am far from a god, though, later, perhaps....”
He broke off and resumed, after a short pause:
“Join me. Here is my frank proposal: join me, and, since indeed I would not hold any woman against her will, if Esther chooses you she shall be yours. This night has undone the labor of many years, but those that are past are but as a drop of water in an ocean to those which are to come. I have the secret of immortal life at last—not ghostly life in some gold-decorated heaven, but life in the flesh. I will bestow the gift on you—”