“The prosecution is quite in order, Mr Windgate,” ruled the judge. “Let us continue.”
“There is—there is a look of Durnford about him,” blunderingly admitted the witness.
“A very similar look? On your oath, mind.”
“Well—he stands like him, and—and—his head—is like him,” stammered the unfortunate man.
“Will you swear that he is not the men that you knew as Robert Durnford? Yes or no?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank you. By the bye, when did this Durnford leave ‘The Silver Fleece’?”
“It was the day after he and Miss Ingelow were cut off by the tide.”
“Did he leave suddenly?”
“Yes, quite suddenly. He just came in—packed up his things and caught the morning train for London.”