'Yes, sir.' He saluted as he spoke, and left the room, while George
St. Mabyn stood looking after him.
CHAPTER VIII
I BECOME AN EAVESDROPPER
For some seconds he was silent, while I, with a score of conflicting thoughts in my mind, stood watching him. I had often wondered how I could bring these two men together, for, while I had but little reason to believe that they were in any way connected, I was constantly haunted by the idea that had been born in my mind on the night I had first met George St. Mabyn. I had imagined that if they could suddenly be brought together, my suspicions could be tested, and now, as it seemed to me, by sheer good fortune, my wishes had been gratified; but they had led to nothing definite.
'Who is that fellow, Luscombe?' he asked presently.
'Don't you remember?' I replied. 'He is the man whom I met at Plymouth
Harbour, the man who had lost his memory.'
'Oh, yes. Funny-looking fellow; he—he almost startled me,' and he laughed nervously.
'Do you know him? Did you ever see him before?' I asked.
'No, I never saw him before.'
'I thought you looked as though you—you recognized him.'