CHAPTER XXVIII
That’s over, at any rate,” said Jack, when he had come to the side of Priscilla in the dining-room. He was smiling, but his face was pale, and his fingers that held his cigar were twitching. “I didn’t say just what I meant to say, but I think I said enough.”
“Every word that you said was the right word,” she cried. “You spoke like a man who knows that a fight has to be faced, and does not fear to face it. Dearest, you were splendid; only—what do you know about him? Who has been telling you anything?—that about the woman—who suggested to you that he had gone to a woman?”
“I have had experience of men of all sorts and conditions. I knew when I saw the fellow that I had to deal with a man on whom such a shot would tell. It was a shot, and I hope that it may turn out to have been a happy one for us. What was the name he mentioned?—someone who he said had been giving him away?”
“Lyman.”
“Lyman. So it was. We must make a note of that. Lyman is the name of the man that is ready to give him away. Now, who is Lyman?”
“Lyman is the name of the captain of the barque that was wrecked on the coast of Nova Scotia. He was among the saved.”
“You knew that? Well, that’s so much. I’m not sure that it’s a great deal, but the smallest contribution will be thankfully received.”
“Another mystery—that postcard. It was from the gunmakers—about the last cartridges. What would you have learned if he had recognized the handwriting of the clerk?”