Mr. Day, the chief officer of the coast-guard, passed me by and saluted. But I was so preoccupied that I scarcely noticed him.
I had crossed by the path leading through the churchyard, and arrived at the corner of Jetty Street—a narrow, old-fashioned lane which leads along to the cliff-top in front of the Hôtel de Paris, and where an inclined slope goes down to the pier.
Suddenly, on raising my eyes at a passer-by, my gaze met that of a tall, thin, pale-faced, rather gentlemanly man in a dark grey suit, and wearing a grey felt hat.
The stranger, without noticing me, went on with unconcern.
But in that second I had recognized him. We had met before, and in that instant I had fixed him as the one man who knew the truth regarding that remarkable secret I had now set out to investigate.
I halted aghast, and half-turned upon my heel to greet him.
CHAPTER VII TELLS OF TWO MEN
The stranger, whose age was about forty-five, went on in the direction of the post-office in the Church Square.