An hour with this wind would get us there comfortably, and

while Dr. Silence and Sangree fell into conversation, I sat and

pondered over the strange suggestions that had just been put into my

mind concerning the “Double,” and the possible form it might assume

when dissociated temporarily from the physical body.

The whole way home these two chatted, and John

Silence was as gentle and sympathetic as a woman. I did not hear much

of their talk, for the wind grew occasionally to the force of a

hurricane and the sails and tiller absorbed my attention; but I could

see that Sangree was pleased and happy, and was pouring out intimate

revelations to his companion in the way that most people did—when John

Silence wished them to do so.

But it was quite suddenly, while I sat all intent

upon wind and sails, that the true meaning of Sangree’s remark about

the animal flared up in me with its full import. For his admission that

he knew it was in pain and starved was in reality nothing more or less

than a revelation of his deeper self. It was in the nature of a

confession. He was speaking of something that he knew positively,

something that was beyond question or argument, something that had to

do directly with himself. “Poor starved beast” he had called it in

words that had “come out of their own accord,” and there had not been

the slightest evidence of any desire to conceal or explain away. He had

spoken instinctively—from his heart, and as though about his own self.

And half an hour before sunset we raced through the

narrow opening of the lagoon and saw the smoke of the dinner-fire

blowing here and there among the trees, and the figures of Joan and the

Bo’sun’s Mate running down to meet us at the landing-stage.

V

Everything changed from the moment John Silence set

foot on that island; it was like the effect produced by calling in some

big doctor, some great arbiter of life and death, for consultation. The

sense of gravity increased a hundredfold. Even inanimate objects took

upon themselves a subtle alteration, for the setting of the

adventure—this deserted bit of sea with its hundreds of uninhabited

islands—somehow turned sombre. An element that was mysterious, and in

a sense disheartening, crept unbidden into the severity of grey rock

and dark pine forest and took the sparkle from the sunshine and the sea.

I, at least, was keenly aware of the change, for my

whole being shifted, as it were, a degree higher, becoming keyed up and

alert. The figures from the background of the stage moved forward a

little into the light—nearer to the inevitable action. In a word this

man’s arrival intensified the whole affair.

And, looking back down the years to the time when

all this happened, it is clear to me that he had a pretty sharp idea of

the meaning of it from the very beginning. How much he knew beforehand

by his strange divining powers, it is impossible to say, but from the

moment he came upon the scene and caught within himself the note of

what was going on amongst us, he undoubtedly held the true solution of

the puzzle and had no need to ask questions. And this certitude it was

that set him in such an atmosphere of power and made us all look to him

instinctively; for he took no tentative steps, made no false moves, and

while the rest of us floundered he moved straight to the climax. He was

indeed a true diviner of souls.

I can now read into his behaviour a good deal that

puzzled me at the time, for though I had dimly guessed the solution, I

had no idea how he would deal with it. And the conversations I can

reproduce almost verbatim, for, according to my invariable habit, I

kept full notes of all he said.

To Mrs. Maloney, foolish and dazed; to Joan,

alarmed, yet plucky; and to the clergyman, moved by his daughter’s

distress below his usual shallow emotions, he gave the best possible

treatment in the best possible way, yet all so easily and simply as to

make it appear naturally spontaneous. For he dominated the Bo’sun’s

Mate, taking the measure of her ignorance with infinite patience; he

keyed up Joan, stirring her courage and interest to the highest point

for her own safety; and the Reverend Timothy he soothed and comforted,

while obtaining his implicit obedience, by taking him into his

confidence, and leading him gradually to a comprehension of the issue

that was bound to follow.

And Sangree—here his wisdom was most wisely

calculated—he neglected outwardly because inwardly he was the object

of his unceasing and most concentrated attention. Under the guise of

apparent indifference his mind kept the Canadian under constant

observation.

There was a restless feeling in the Camp that

evening and none of us lingered round the fire after supper as usual.

Sangree and I busied ourselves with patching up the torn tent for our

guest and with finding heavy stones to hold the ropes, for Dr. Silence

insisted on having it pitched on the highest point of the island ridge,

just where it was most rocky and there was no earth for pegs. The

place, moreover, was midway between the men’s and women’s tents, and,

of course, commanded the most comprehensive view of the Camp.

“So that if your dog comes,” he said simply, “I may

be able to catch him as he passes across.”

The wind had gone down with the sun and an unusual

warmth lay over the island that made sleep heavy, and in the morning we

assembled at a late breakfast, rubbing our eyes and yawning. The cool

north wind had given way to the warm southern air that sometimes came

up with haze and moisture across the Baltic, bringing with it the

relaxing sensations that produced enervation and listlessness.

And this may have been the reason why at first I

failed to notice that anything unusual was about, and why I was less

alert than normally; for it was not till after breakfast that the

silence of our little party struck me and I discovered that Joan had

not yet put in an appearance. And then, in a flash, the last heaviness

of sleep vanished and I saw that Maloney was white and troubled and his

wife could not hold a plate without trembling.

A desire to ask questions was stopped in me by a

swift glance from Dr. Silence, and I suddenly understood in some vague

way that they were waiting till Sangree should have gone. How this idea

came to me I cannot determine, but the soundness of the intuition was

soon proved, for the moment he moved off to his tent, Maloney looked up

at me and began to speak in a low voice.

“You slept through it all,” he half whispered.

“Through what?” I asked, suddenly thrilled with the

knowledge that something dreadful had happened.

“We didn’t wake you for fear of getting the whole

Camp up,” he went on, meaning, by the Camp, I supposed, Sangree. “It

was just before dawn when the screams woke me.”

“The dog again?” I asked, with a curious sinking of

the heart.

“Got right into the tent,” he went on, speaking

passionately but very low, “and woke my wife by scrambling all over

her. Then she realised that Joan was struggling beside her. And, by

God! the beast had torn her arm; scratched all down the arm she was,

and bleeding.”

“Joan injured?” I gasped.

“Merely scratched—this time,” put in John Silence,

speaking for the first time; “suffering more from shock and fright than

actual wounds.”

“Isn’t it a mercy the doctor was here?” said Mrs.