"Did Polly tell you that?" demanded Captain Francis Newcombe sharply.
"Innocently—yes," Locke answered. "And in her letter she also told you 'all about everything here,' to use her own words, which could not help but embrace the fact that Mr. Marlin was not right in his mind—yet, strangely enough, in the smoking room of the liner, you will perhaps remember, you had had no idea of any such thing, and even expressed anxiety for the safety of your ward."
Captain Francis Newcombe was painstakingly polishing the finger nails of one hand on the palm of the other now.
"One might possibly conceive a man to be eccentric and attribute his idiosyncrasies to that cause—without thought of classifying him as a raving lunatic," he observed in a bored voice.
Locke shrugged his shoulders.
"Perhaps there is a better explanation of your mistake," he said evenly. "You did not, at that time, have the slightest idea that I, too, would be one of the party on this island."
Captain Francis Newcombe looked up from his finger nails.
"Did you?" he inquired softly.
"Yes," said Locke curtly.
"Ah!" Captain Francis Newcombe, with eyes half closed now, studied Locke's face for a full minute before he spoke again. "I am becoming rather curious as to just who you are, Locke," he murmured finally.