“Pshaw!” said the other, turning to look at the curving bulwark of rocks over which the soft slow swell was barely breaking. “If it were the other end of the cove, now, I could understand it.”
“Yes,” agreed Jarvis, “they mostly come in at the other end, on this tide.”
“Mostly? Always.” The professor’s tone was positive. “Unless my charts are wrong. But this—well, it spoils at least one phase of my theory.”
“Theery!” exclaimed the liveryman, his pale eyes alight. “You got a theery? But I thought you didn’t know anything about the body, till I told you, just now.”
“Oh, my ruined theory has reference to the currents,” sighed the other. “It has nothing to do with dead men, as such.”
“Neither has this,” was the prompt response, delivered with a jerk of the thumb toward the dark object.
“No? What is it then, if not a dead man?”
“A dead woman.”
“Oh! All the same, it shouldn’t have come in on this section of the beach at all.”
“Thet ain’t half the strangeness of it, the way it washed in. Lonesome Cove has had some queer folks drift home to it, but nothing as queer as this. Come and see for yourself.”