"Yes, another coincidence. John Drake—horribly like is it not?—managed to escape with the second mate, the carpenter, and the cabin boy, got across to the Patagonian country—there are lots of details. They wandered about for ever so long, and at last turned up somewhere. They were all Italians, and Drake, who had no papers, was shipped off again by the Consul on board of another Italian ship. That accounts for six months, with the bad weather they had. Then there is a long blank. And now this John Drake turns up here—"
"Yes—but—after all, if he changed his name, he would change it altogether." She stopped and looked at him, for the argument seemed conclusive.
"That is not the only point that is not clear," Brett answered. "But the names are so dreadfully alike."
"But there is a very great difference!" Marion exclaimed. "There are a great many Drakes—but Darche is a very uncommon name."
"That is the reason why he changed it so little."
"Oh, why do you suggest such a possibility—of what use is it? Why?" She rose suddenly and began to move about the room.
"Because I am a fool, I suppose," Brett answered, not moving from his seat. "But I cannot help it. The idea has taken hold of me and I cannot get rid of it. I feel as though that man had risen from the dead to wreck your life."
"It would be a wreck indeed!" said Marion in a low voice that had a sort of horror in it. "You could not save me this time—not even you."
"And yet—"
"What?"