I was for chatting with Mrs. Braithwaite when she came up to clear away. I thought she might be glad to talk after the life she must lead with her afflicted husband, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect on her. All I elicited was an ambiguous statement as to the distance between the cottage and the hall; it was “not so far.” And so she left me to my pipe and to my best night yet, in the stillest spot I have ever slept in on dry land; one heard nothing but the bubble of a beck; and it seemed very, very far away.
The paper was unfolded with a shrug.
“There was another passenger of the name of San-Santos. Dutchman, seemin’ly. Ever heard o’ him?”
My disappointment was keen. I could not say that I had. Yet I would not swear that I had not.
“Oh, won’t you? Well, there’s only one more chance. Ever heard of Miss Eva Denison - “