We heard the inmate shuffle across the floor and fumble at the fastenings of the door, which fell open on its leathern hinges, disclosing to our view a miserable-looking specimen of humanity who stood leaning against the door-post for support, being, seemingly, too weak to stand upright. He was tall, hollow-cheeked, and red-eyed. His face, which to all appearances had not been washed for a week or two, was begrimed with dirt and “blacks” from his fire. A thin, dark beard covered his cheeks and chin, and his hair hung down below his collar. Added to all this, his clothes were so ragged it was a wonder he could keep them on at all.
I did not recognize who it was until Percy, stepping forward, tapped the spectre on the chest with his finger, and said, “Where’s your partner, Bates?”
It was Bates! The wretched, half-starved, unkempt vagabond who staggered back, throwing up his hands before him as if to ward off an attack, was our sometime neat and well-dressed schoolfellow.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Jack. “We don’t want to hurt you. Where’s your partner?”
“I don’t know,” Bates began, and then, remembering himself: “Partner! What do you mean?”
“Oh, come,” said Jack. “You might as well give up that farce. We know all about you and your partner. We knew who you were when you captured us the other day, though we pretended we didn’t. Where’s Morgan?”
“I don’t know,” replied Bates, as he sank down upon the ground in the corner. “I haven’t seen him for a week or more; not since the big storm.”
As he spoke he pressed his hand over his eyes as though he were giddy, and then for the first time we noticed how thin his hand was; it was like a bird’s foot.
“Why, Bates,” cried Percy, “you look half starved. Are you hungry?”
“Not very,” replied Bates. “I was yesterday and the day before, but I seem to have got over it.”