“Did you never hear of any blue man on the island, Clementine?”
“I hear of blue bones found beyond Point de Mission.”
“But that skeleton found in the hole near the Giant’s Stairway was a woman’s skeleton.”
“Me loes!” exclaimed Madame Clementine, miscalling her English as she always did in excitement. “Me handle de big bones, moi-même! Me loes what de doctor who found him say!”
“I was told it was an Indian girl.”
“You have hear lies, madame. Me loes there was a blue man found beyond Point de Mission.”
“But who was it that I saw in your house?”
“He is not in my house!” declared Madame Clementine. “No blue man is ever in my house!” She crossed herself.
There is a sensation like having a slide pulled from one’s head; the shock passes in the fraction of a second. Sunshine, and rioting nasturtiums, the whole natural world, including Clementine’s puzzled brown face, were no more distinct to-day than the blue man and the woman with floating hair had been yesterday.
I had seen a man who shot down to instant death in the pit under the Giant’s Stairway thirty-five years ago. I had seen a woman, who, perhaps, once thought herself intentionally and strangely deserted, seek and meet him after she had been killed at four o’clock!