“We don’t know who he is, sir. That is what I took the liberty of coming to you about.”
“Don’t know who he is?” said Dorian, listlessly. “What do you mean? Wasn’t he one of your men?”
“No, sir. Never saw him before. Seems like a sailor, sir.”
The pen dropped from Dorian Gray’s hand, and he felt as if his heart had suddenly stopped beating. “A sailor?” he cried out. “Did you say a sailor?”
“Yes, sir. He looks as if he had been a sort of sailor; tattooed on both arms, and that kind of thing.”
“Was there anything found on him?” said Dorian, leaning forward and looking at the man with startled eyes. “Anything that would tell his name?”
“Some money, sir—not much, and a six-shooter. There was no name of any kind. A decent-looking man, sir, but rough-like. A sort of sailor we think.”
Dorian started to his feet. A terrible hope fluttered past him. He clutched at it madly. “Where is the body?” he exclaimed. “Quick! I must see it at once.”
“It is in an empty stable in the Home Farm, sir. The folk don’t like to have that sort of thing in their houses. They say a corpse brings bad luck.”
“The Home Farm! Go there at once and meet me. Tell one of the grooms to bring my horse round. No. Never mind. I’ll go to the stables myself. It will save time.”