"There is, if it is an hour since she blew up, no chance of any more being alive in the water, even clinging on to anything."
"No, Mr. Grey."
"Do you know——" His tongue was dry again, and he dipped his hand into the brackish water and drank out of his palm.
The fisherman shuddered at this. "It's brackish at best," thought the man; "but after what has happened—ugh! He must be drunk or queer in his head."
Grey drew in both oars before completing the question, "Do you know—Mrs. Grey—my wife?"
"Yes, sir, I know her well. I often sold her salmon, and saw her with you on the Rodwell. I humbly hope, sir, she wasn't aboard this evening?"
"You did not see her among the saved?"
"Mr. Grey, I may be mistaken——"
"Answer me, man, or——" He suddenly sprang up in the boat, and, whirling an oar in his hands, threatened the fisherman in the other boat. "Answer, man, or I'll brain you, d'ye hear? And if you tell me a lie I'll come back and brain you when I find it out. Is my wife saved?"
"I did not see her," answered the man, shoving off the wherry.