which lay the captain’s corpse, with the hearthrug turned up on either side to cover it.
“Harris for one,” said I. “Outside lie Jose and - “
“Quick! Quick!”
“Senhor Santos.”
Her face was as though the name meant nothing to her.
“And Mr. Rattray?” she cried. “And Mr. Rattray -”
“Has escaped for the present. He seems to have cut his way through the police and got over the wall by a ladder they left behind them. They are scouring the country - Miss Denison! Eva! My poor love!”
She had broken
the climate,” he added, jumping from tone to tone; “it couldn’t have been those two or three glasses of sound wine.”
“Shall I tell you what it is?” I said, looking him full in the face, with eyes that I dare say were wild enough with fever and insomnia. “It’s the burning of the Lady Jermyn!” I cried.