"'Remember,'" I repeated. "I will, uncle. As surely as father was murdered, I will remember—when the time comes."
They were strange words from a boy. My uncle looked at me again, but doubtless thinking my brain turned with grief, said nothing.
"Have you told anybody?" I asked at length.
"I have seen nobody. There will be an inquest, of course, but in this case an inquest can do nothing. Murderer and murdered have both gone to their account. By the way, I suppose nothing has been seen of the man who gave evidence. It was an unlikely tale; and this makes it the more suspicious. Bless my soul!" said my uncle, suddenly, "to think it never struck me before! Your father was to sail in the Belle Fortune, and this man gave the name of the ship as the James and Elizabeth."
"It was the Belle Fortune, and the man told a falsehood."
"I suppose it must have been."
"I know it was."
"Know? How do you know?"
"Because the James and Elizabeth is lying at this moment in Falmouth Harbour, and her captain is down at the 'Lugger.'"
Thereupon I told how I had met with Captain Antonius Merrydew. Nay, more, for my heart ached for confidence, I recounted the whole story of my meeting with John Railton, and the struggle upon Dead Man's Rock. Every word I told, down to the dead man's legacy—the packet and letter which I hid in the cow-house. As the tale proceeded my uncle's eyes grew wider and wider with astonishment. But I held on calmly and resolutely to the end, nor after the first shock of wonderment did he doubt my sanity or truthfulness, but grew more and more gravely interested.