“And do you think that after all these years, Remington is really alive?” said Charles, looking at him earnestly. “Do you think it was he who murdered my uncle?”
“Happen maybe, happen not. The night he was killed I found him in a rare funk in his room. He rang his bell like a fury, and when I went up he swore he heard the footsteps of Remington just afore, running round the rocks outside of Flint House just as he heard him pattering along the rocks on the island that night. I didn’t believe ‘un then, but I’m not so sure since. If he’s come back to get Turold it’s for sure he’s still somewhere about, waiting his chance to get me as well. I’m keeping my eye open for ‘un—walked the coast for miles, I have, looking for him. He won’t take me unawares, same as Turold.” His eyes searched the cliffs behind them.
“You may not recognize him if you meet him. It is thirty years since you saw him. A man changes a lot in thirty years.”
“That’s true, ‘tis a thought which never crossed my mind.” Thalassa’s look was troubled.
“As you’ve told me this story you’d better leave it in my hands, and not go looking for anybody with that knife of yours.”
“What be you going to do?”
“I must go to Scotland Yard and tell them your story. It’s the only chance.”
“And get me into trouble?”
“There’s not much fear of that. In any case, you must stand that, for Sisily’s sake.”
Thalassa nodded his acquiescence. “Better be careful yersel’ getting back to London. The police here is watching for you. They’ve been a’ Flint House more than once, looking for both of you.”