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The silence held complete possession of the room for a good minute after Baines had finished speaking. I ruminated sadly over the confirmation and support that would be given to the wild theories of Crum and Gerry by this unfortunate testimony from the dead. Baines was lost in pathetic reminiscence of the end of a master whom in his way he had loved, and to whom he had given nigh a score of years of faithful service; while Gerry a single glance showed to be indulging in fantastic dreams of triumph which only a certain feeble sense of decency prevented him divulging to us on the moment.

“What about Monsieur Lessaution, Baines?” I queried to break a silence which was getting heavy with foreboding. “Did he stay in Greytown, as he didn’t cross with you?”

Baines flushed suddenly and looked yet unhappier.

“No, my lord, he went back to Chichitza—at least so I understood.”

“Why?”

Baines stammered, and fumbled his hat diffidently before he answered, striving evidently to use chosen words in describing a disagreeable incident. At last he burst forth incontinent, forbearing circumlocutions.