'You will tell me after awhile,' I continued; 'I
suppose you will tell me after awhile.'
A moment later I asked: 'What ship is this? '
Doyle stared again. 'The steamer City of Prague,
bound from Liverpool to New York, three weeks out
with a broken shaft. Principal passenger, Mr. Gor-
don Doyle; ditto lunatic, Mr. William Jarrett. These
two distinguished travellers embarked together,
but they are about to part, it being the resolute
intention of the former to pitch the latter over-
board.'
I sat bolt upright. 'Do you mean to say that I
have been for three weeks a passenger on this
steamer?'
'Yes, pretty nearly; this is the 3rd of July.'
'Have I been ill? '
'Right as a trivet all the time, and punctual at
your meals.'
'My God! Doyle, there is some mystery here; do
have the goodness to be serious. Was I not rescued
from the wreck of the ship Morrow?'
Doyle changed colour, and approaching me, laid
his fingers on my wrist. A moment later, 'What do
you know of Janette Harford?' he asked very
calmly.
'First tell me what you know of her?'
Mr. Doyle gazed at me for some moments as if
thinking what to do, then seating himself again on
the couch, said:
'Why should I not? I am engaged to marry
Janette Harford, whom I met a year ago in London.
Her family, one of the wealthiest in Devonshire, cut
up rough about it, and we eloped--are eloping
rather, for on the day that you and I walked to the
landing stage to go aboard this steamer she and her
faithful servant, a negress, passed us, driving to the
ship Morrow.
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