"I am afraid not. Was there a passenger on board the Falcon called Stretton."
"No, sir. I'm sure o' that."
"Or—Luttrell?"
Percival Heron knew well enough that no such name had been found amongst the list of passengers; but he had a vague notion that Brian might have resumed his former appellation for some reason or other after he came on board. Thomas Jackson considered the subject for a few minutes.
"I ain't rightly sure, sir. Seems to me there was a gent of that name, or something like it, on board: but if so, he was amongst those in the other boat."
"I should like to see this man Mackay—or Smith," said Percival.
The berth in which the steerage passenger lay was pointed out to him: he looked at the face upon the pillow, and shook his head. A rough, reddened, blistered face it was, with dirt grained into the pores and matting the hair and beard: not in the least like the countenance of the man whom he had come to seek.
"We may fall in with the other boat," suggested the officer.
But though the steamer went out of her course in search of it, and a careful watch was kept throughout the day and night, the other boat could not be seen.