His eyes burned her with their contempt. She gasped:
“You—you mean that you are going South to try and find him?�
“You comprehend my meaning perfectly,� said Hawting-Holliday, and bowed to Mrs. Magellison with ironical deference and left her.
He was, though not a wealthy man, far from being a poor one. He chartered a stout vessel that was lying in Liverpool Docks, the Iceland Coast Survey Company’s steam-and-sail schooner Snowbird, and equipped and provisioned and manned her with a speed and thoroughness that are seldom found in combination. The Snowbird’s own skipper goes in charge of his ship, but Hawting-Holliday is the Leader of the Expedition.
And yesterday the Snowbird sailed, in search of that man who has been swallowed up by the great Conjecture. And of this I am sure, that whether Hawting-Holliday succeeds or fails, lives or dies, he will grasp the hand of his friend again Somewhere. Either upon this side of the Great Gray Veil that hangs in the doorway of the Smoky House, or upon the other....
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.