They seemed anxious to part from Angel and his friends. Crusoe watched them go without regret. They were odd-looking men, and he had not enjoyed their company. Moreover, he had a feeling that they had nothing to do with the danger the thought of which made him uneasy. Professor, now—Professor had a little more to do with it.
Angel's ponderous mind had returned to the subject of their mysterious escape. He said, "Look, Crusoe, how'd ya do it? You can come clean with us. We won't spill it to nobody."
Crusoe said, "I haven't the slightest idea. As I told you, all I did was point."
"Any more tricks you know how to pull?"
"How do I know? I didn't even suspect that I could perform this one."
"I suppose," said the Professor, "that the reflexes, which existed long before there was a conscious mind, can continue to persist even after the mind has been seriously injured. You must have been in the habit of using some weapon—"
"A weapon? You mean that I was a soldier? Then what am I doing out of uniform?"
"I hardly know," said the Professor slowly. "When I first met you, near the swamp, you were wearing nothing. Your body was dirty and slightly burnt, as if from some explosion. There was not a shred of clothes to give a clue to what you had been. Those you are now wearing, including your overalls, I ah—borrowed from a clothesline."
"But there may be traces of my own clothes back in that swamp."
"They will be hard to find. Swamps have a habit of swallowing what is left in them."