For some moments both were again silent; only the sounds of the wind and the rain, mingled with monotonous creakings, broke the stillness.
"You say this shipwrecked man was like a Greek statue, half clothed in rags. Perhaps then," slowly, "since he was only half-clothed the rescuers might have noticed--"
"I sought them at once," with sudden eagerness, "to verify what your lordship suggests, and I have their full corroboration; what the evidence of their eyes told them, that the rescued man bore on his arm the exact markings described in my book."
"A coincidence not easily accounted for." The speaker's tones had a rasping sound. "And now--"
"One question, my Lord. He is discerning--knows that you--"
"Knows? Yes; he found that out one day in Hyde Park, never mind how; about the same time I, too, learned something."
"And yet he deliberately comes down here, dares to leave London where at least his chances are better for--but why? It is unreasonable; I don't understand."
"Why?" Lord Ronsdale's smile was not agreeable. "When does a man become illogical, stray from the path good reasoning should keep him in? When does he accept chances, however desperate?"
"When?" The police agent's tones expressed vague wonder. "Why, when--there is a woman in the case!" suddenly.
"A woman, or a girl."