‘Your mystery lady, I mean. Kneebone. Over here men drink because they are lonely; and when they drink too hard and too long, they wind up on the beach. "If I thought he lived——" observed Wood. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. Unless he has dealings with the devil, he could never have done this alone. ’ ‘How can I have more? You have taken my pistol. ‘And this is where you have been all the time?’ ‘I would have been back in a day, I promise you. "I can't say I did," replied Wood, somewhat reluctantly; "what with the confusion incident to the storm, and the subsequent press of business, I put it off till it was too late.
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