Ностромо

           Buteverytimehesawonlythedistortedshadowofbroadshouldersandbowedhead.Hewasdoingapparentlynothing,andstirrednotfromthespot,asthoughheweremeditating—or,perhaps,readingapaper.Andnotasoundissuedfromtheroom.

           OncemoretheCapatazsteppedback.Hewonderedwhoitwas—someMonterist?Buthedreadedtoshowhimself.Todiscoverhispresenceonshore,unlessaftermanydays,would,hebelieved,endangerthetreasure.Withhisownknowledgepossessinghiswholesoul,itseemedimpossiblethatanybodyinSulacoshouldfailtojumpattherightsurmise.Afteracoupleofweeksorsoitwouldbedifferent.WhocouldtellhehadnotreturnedoverlandfromsomeportbeyondthelimitsoftheRepublic?Theexistenceofthetreasureconfusedhisthoughtswithapeculiarsortofanxiety,asthoughhislifehadbecomeboundupwithit.Itrenderedhimtimorousforamomentbeforethatenigmatic,lighteddoor.Deviltakethefellow!Hedidnotwanttoseehim.Therewouldbenothingtolearnfromhisface,knownorunknown.Hewasafooltowastehistimethereinwaiting.

           LessthanfiveminutesafterenteringtheplacetheCapatazbeganhisretreat.Hegotawaydownthestairswithperfectsuccess,gaveoneupwardlookoverhisshoulderatthelightonthelanding,andranstealthilyacrossthehall.Butattheverymomenthewasturningoutofthegreatdoor,withhismindfixeduponescapingthenoticeofthemanupstairs,somebodyhehadnotheardcomingbrisklyalongthefrontranfullintohim.