A man had come thrusting through the crowd in the basement, hurrying in from the outside.  It was Squire Amos Hexter.  It was hard to determine from his expression which spectacle he found the more astounding—­Frank Vaniman at bay, in the flesh, or the gold coins that Tasper Britt was dipping with both hands, sluicing them upon the concrete in jingling showers.

Squire Hexter did find his voice.  “Good God!” he shouted.

“God is good!” said Vaniman.  He threw the weapons into a far corner of the basement.  “Squire Hexter, take charge of this thing.  Here are plenty of witnesses.”

The Squire went forward slowly.  His lips moved without the sound of spoken word.  He set the clutch of his hands on Vaniman’s arms.  He stared long and earnestly into the young man’s eyes.

“I can’t talk now,” Vaniman quavered.

And the Squire seemed to know, out of his sympathy with men, that there was something for that case better than words.  He put his arms around Vaniman and kissed him.  “Come along home with me to Xoa, sonny.”

Britt struggled to his feet, and groaned when his weight came on the tortured flesh.  He looked about as if searching for something.  “A basket!” he muttered.  “I must find a basket.”

He started forward and saw Vaniman in the hook of the Squire’s arm.  Whether increase of his mania or some sort of remorse prompted his utterance was not clear.  “Take it back to Tophet with you!  I didn’t mean to keep it.  I didn’t know how to give it back.  I took it so that they’d pen you up, out from under my feet.  But even a thousand tons of rock can’t pen you.  I’m done trying.  If this is what you’re chasing me for, take it!  Keep away from me.”

He went through the crowd, beating his way with his fists.

“Shall we hold him, Squire?” called a man.

“Let him alone for just now!  He can’t go far in that shape.  We’ll attend to him after a little while.”  The Squire pulled himself together with the air of one who saw that the situation needed a commander.  He singled responsible men from the crowd and ordered them to take charge of the coin.

“Come away with me,” he urged Vaniman.  “This is no place for our talk.”

When they walked out of the building they saw no sign of Britt.  “We’ll let him alone,” insisted the Squire.  “There’ll be no use in asking him questions till he’s in his right mind.  He’ll probably get back his wits when he gets back his clothes.”

“Squire Hexter, what’s happening in this town to-night.  What—­”

“All in good time, sonny!  Let’s get home where Xoa is.”

There were lights in the Squire’s house.  In spite of the fog, Vaniman perceived that there was a gray hint of dawn in the heavens.  More acutely was he wondering what this universal vigil in Egypt signified.  But reaction had overtaken him.  He was in the mood to accept commands of any sort.  He walked on in silence.