"That won't stand a moment's argument," interposed Mr. Harland—"And I'll tell you how I know it won't. We had a quarrel once, and I slashed his arm with a clasp-knife pretty heavily." Here a sudden quiver of something,—shame or remorse perhaps—came over his hard face and changed its expression for a moment. "It was all my fault—I had a devilish temper, and he was calm—his calmness irritated me;—moreover, I was drunk. Santoris knew I was drunk,—and he wanted to get me home to my rooms and to bed before I made too great a disgrace of myself—then—THAT happened. I remember the blood pouring from his arm—it frightened me and sobered me. Well, when he came on board here the other night he showed me the scar of the very wound I had inflicted. So I know he's the same man."
We all sat silent.
"He was always studying the 'occult'"—went on Mr. Harland—"And I was scarcely surprised that he should 'think out' that antique piece of jewellery from your pocket last night. He actually told me it belonged to you ages ago, when you were quite another and more important person!"
Dr. Brayle laughed loudly, almost boisterously.
"What a fictionist the man must be!" he exclaimed. "Why doesn't he write a novel? Mr. Swinton, I wish you would take a few notes for me of what Mr. Santoris said about that collar of jewels,—I should like to keep the record."
Mr. Swinton smiled an obliging assent.
"I certainly will,"—he said. "I was fortunately present when Mr.
Santoris expressed his curious ideas about the jewels to Mr. Harland."
"Oh, well, if you are going to record it,"—said Mr. Harland, half laughingly—"you had better be careful to put it all down. The collar—according to Santoris—belonged to Dr. Brayle when his personality was that of an Italian nobleman residing in Florence about the year 1537—he wore it on one unfortunate occasion when he murdered a man, and the jewels have not had much of a career since that period. Now they have come back into his possession—"
"Father, who told you all this?"
The voice was sharp and thin, and we turned round amazed to see Catherine standing in the doorway of the saloon, white and trembling, with wild eyes looking as though they saw ghosts. Dr. Brayle hastened to her.