"Jasper, boy, are you better?"
After a short struggle with my grief, I plucked up heart to answer that I was.
"That's a brave boy. I asked, because I have yet to tell you something. I am a doctor, you know, Jasper, and so you may take my word when I say there is no good in what is called 'breaking news.' It is always best to have the pain over and done with; at least, that's my experience. Now, my dear boy, though God knows you have sorrow enough, there is still something to tell: and if you are the boy I take you for, it is best to let you know at once."
Dimly wondering what new blow fortune could deal me, I sat up in bed and looked at my uncle helplessly.
"Jasper, you think—do you not—that your father was drowned?"
"Of course, uncle."
"He was not drowned."
"Not drowned!"
"No, Jasper, he was murdered."
The words came slowly and solemnly, and even with the first shock of surprise the whole truth dawned upon me. This, then, explained the effect my name had wrought upon those two strange men. This was the reason why, as we sat together upon Dead Man's Rock, the eyes of John Railton had refused to meet mine: this was the reason why his murderer had gripped me so viciously upon Ready-Money Beach. These few words of my uncle's began slowly to piece together the scattered puzzle of the last two days, so that I half guessed the answer as I asked—