“And you?”
“A kind fortune has favored me. This dress I wore as a masquerade costume; over it I threw a black and scarlet domino. Van Vernet saw me in that domino, and with a mask before my face.”
“You may thank your stars for that, and for your silence at the hovel. If you had opened your lips then, your voice might have betrayed you.”
“It would have betrayed the fact that I was no seaman, at the least, and that is why I had resolved upon silence as the safest course.”
“You have come out of this night’s business most fortunately. But you still have reason to fear Vernet. Your very silence may cause him to suspect you of playing a part. Your features are photographed upon his memory; alter the cut of your whiskers or, better still, give your face a clean shave; crop your hair, and above all leave the city until this affair blows over.”
“Thank you,” Alan replies; “I feel that your advice is good.” Then, after a struggle with his pride, he adds:
“I could easily clear myself of so monstrous a charge as that which Vernet would prefer against me, but, for certain reasons, I would prefer not to make a statement of the case.”
“I comprehend.”
Again Alan is startled out of his dignity. “You were the first to arrive in response to that cry for help to-night?” he begins.
“The first, after you.”