"Did you mention Peter Tortue?" said the Frenchman.
"No. Would you be sitting here if I had? There would be a company of soldiers scouring the island for you."
"That's reasonable," said Tortue, and the rest echoed his words. In a little there was silence. Tortue set to work again with his knife. It flashed backwards and forwards, red with the candle light as though it ran blood. It shone in my eyes and dazzled me, and somehow, there came back to me a recollection of that hot night in Clutterbuck's rooms when everything had glittered with an intolerable brightness, and Dick Parmiter had been set upon the table to tell his story. I was vaguely wondering what they were all doing at this moment in London, Clutterbuck, Macfarlane, and the rest, when the questions began again.
"You came back from St. Mary's to New Grimsby?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell Parmiter?"
"No."
"From St. Mary's you crossed the island to Merchant's Point?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell the girl?"