"Will you come in, or would you prefer to have me come out?"
This took Ledyard rather at a disadvantage. He could hardly have told what he expected, but he certainly did not look for this calm acceptance of him and his errand.
"I'll come in. I see you have a light. Thank you"—for Farwell had offered a chair near the table—"I hope I'm not disturbing you."
The irony of this was apparently lost upon Farwell. He sat opposite Ledyard, his arms folded on the table, waiting.
"So you're alive!"
"So it seems—at least partly so." Farwell parried the blows as one does even when he sees failure at hand.
"Perhaps you know your death was reported some years ago? There was a full account. You were escaping into Canada. The La Belle was the name of the boat. It went down near here?"
"Off Bleak Head," Farwell broke in.
"Thanks. There was even a picture of you in the papers," Ledyard said.
"A very poor one, I recall." Now that he was on the dissecting table, Farwell found himself strangely calm and collected. He saw that his manner irritated Ledyard; felt that it might ruin his chances, but he held to it grimly.