Uncle Herbert, too, was awake, and beyond complaining of a slight stiffness, refused to admit that he was ill. No mention of the shipwreck had passed between the brothers, but my father, taking me aside, told me that it was surmised that the unfortunate ship was the "Andrea Doria," that being the name painted on a couple of lifebuoys and a shattered whaler that had been washed ashore at Pridmouth Bay, and that my uncle was the only survivor.
"The only survivor?" I repeated. "Then where did that foreign-looking sailor come from?"
"What foreign sailor was that?" inquired my father, and, having told him of my encounter with the mysterious stranger on the cliff, he remarked—
"I wonder what his little game is."
The doctor called again in the afternoon and pronounced his patient out of danger; and, free from the ban of silence, Uncle Herbert began his narrative.
Chapter III
UNCLE HERBERT'S NARRATIVE
"NO doubt you wondered why I returned home by the vessel which came to a bad ending on the Cannis, instead of by the regular mail service. However, before explaining why I took this apparently erratic step, I'll tell you about the documents I obtained from Sarmientos. First and foremost there was the cipher, still preserved in the little metal box. I have not got it here; but, thank goodness, it's safe enough in the keeping of the cottagers at Pridmouth, the same people who kindly lent me the garb in which I made my appearance to you. There's not much in it to look at, but in all probability we shall find it a tough nut to crack. It is a piece of parchment, on which is drawn a square, subdivided into over two hundred smaller squares, most of which are blank, but a few contain various hieroglyphics, and the vague directions, 'steer nor'-east.' However, we will go into that when we get it. The other papers, which, unfortunately, were stolen——"
"Stolen?" exclaimed my father anxiously.