So this was what it was all about. I found him lying like this, the bleeding partly stopped by this scarf, else he had been dead by now. The whole of that relationship persisted in remaining obscure. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. As soon as he had gained his feet, he glanced round the bare blank walls of the cell, and, oppressed by the musty, close atmosphere, exclaimed, "I'll let a little fresh air into this dungeon. “Perhaps I should better be able to understand its significance if you would explain to me who Mr. Jack, who had been lingering near the group, now walked on. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air.
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