"Then nothing remains to me but to offer the papers to his brother's son, an undoubtedly interested party, Mr. Alan—"
"Alan Craig is also dead."
Mr. Marvel's hat fell to the floor, and lay neglected. Mr. Marvel began to laugh softly while Bullard wondered whether the man's sanity, always suspect, had given way.
"Come, come, Mr. Bullard," Marvel coughed at last; "come, come!"
"Young Craig," said Bullard, restraining himself, "was lost on an Arctic expedition, a year ago."
"Then he must have been found again."
"… What do you say?"
"Why, I saw him—let me see—just fourteen days ago."
"Rot!"
"I'd know Frank Craig's son anywhere, Mr. Bullard; and there he was on the quay at Montreal, the day I left. What's the matter?"