And he could see nothing.

He held out his hand before his face, and blackness swallowed it.
"We have been chased so much that we're what you might call super-sensitive," he said, pulling himself back and nodding at Peter in the gray light of the alcohol lamp.

"Guess we'd better turn in, boy.
This is a good place to sleep--plenty of fresh air, no mosquitoes or black flies, and the police so far away that we will soon forget how they look.

If you say so we will have a nip of cold tea and a bite--" He did not finish.

For a moment the wind had lessened in fury, as if gathering a deeper breath.