John Ball was behind the cataract! The strange murmurings of the old man who for a few moments had crouched so close to him still rang in his ears, and he was sure that in these half-articulate sounds had been John Ball's own name.

If there had been a doubt in his mind before, it was wiped away now.

The mad hunter was John Ball, and with that thought burning in his brain Rod stopped beside the fish--the madman's offering of peace--and turned his face once more back toward the black loneliness of the pool.
Unconsciously a sobbing cry of sympathy fell softly from Rod's lips, and he called John Ball's name again, louder and louder, until it echoed far down the gloomy depths of the chasm.

There came no response.

Then he turned to the fish.