"By Jove! I begin to think I do see a glimmering of reason in it after all. But it's a strange enough affair, if you like. Now first tell me what sort of man this dwarf is, who proved himself your friend by lending you the money to buy the schooner, and your enemy, by misrepresenting your connection with that nigger."
"Well, among other things, he was an Albino."
He jumped up like a shot.
"An Albino and a dwarf? Great snakes! What was his name?"
So taken aback was I by his excitement, that for the instant I could only stare at him. He seemed more affected by my story than if he had undergone it all himself.
"Quickly," he said, "what is the name of this dwarf, this Albino?"
"John Macklin," I answered promptly, and when he heard it he began to pace the room, like a man labouring under some extraordinary emotion.
For a few minutes he occupied himself in this fashion. Then, in the middle of one of his peregrinations, he stopped short, and asked me another question.
"And the woman, what was she like? Was she tall and dark, foreign in appearance, with a suspicion of a moustache, and a little mole on the lobe of her left ear?"
I nodded, wonderstruck. He smiled a pitying sort of smile.