D'Alcacer was startled enough for an exclamation
and Mr. Travers turned his head slowly in his direction. D'Alcacer
approached the bedstead with a certain reluctance.
"Awake?" he said.
"A sudden chill," said Mr. Travers. "But I don't feel cold now. Strange!
I had the impression of an icy blast."
"Ah!" said d'Alcacer.
"Impossible, of course!" went on Mr. Travers. "This stagnating air never
moves. It clings odiously to one. What time is it?"
"Really, I don't know."
"The glass of my watch was smashed on that night when we were so
treacherously assailed by the savages on the sandbank," grumbled Mr.
Travers.
"I must say I was never so surprised in my life," confessed d'Alcacer.
"We had stopped and I was lighting a cigar, you may remember."
"No," said Mr. Travers. "I had just then pulled out my watch. Of course
it flew out of my hand but it hung by the chain. Somebody trampled on
it. The hands are broken off short. It keeps on ticking but I can't tell
the time. It's absurd. Most provoking."
"Do you mean to say," asked d'Alcacer, "that you have been winding it up
every evening?"
Mr. Travers looked up from his bedstead and he also seemed surprised.
"Why! I suppose I have." He kept silent for a while. "It isn't so
much blind habit as you may think. My habits are the outcome of strict
method.
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