ilence. It held after
Slade had finished. Captain Parkinson, stiff and erect in his chair,
staring fixedly at a spot two feet above the reporter's head, seemed to
weigh, as a judge weighs, the facts so picturesquely, set forth. Dr.
Trendon, his sturdy frame half in shadow, had slouched far down into
himself. Only the regard of his keen eyes fixed upon Slade's face,
unwaveringly and a bit anxiously, showed that he was thinking of the
narrator as well as of the narrative. The others had fallen completely
under the spell of the tale. They sat, as children in a theatre, absorbed,
forgetful of the world around them, wrapped in a more vivid element. At
the close, they stirred and blinked, half dazed by the abrupt fall of the
curtain.

Slade had told his story with fire, with something of passion, even. Now
he felt the sharp reflex. He muttered uncertainly beneath his breath and
glanced from one to another of the circled faces.

"That's all," he said unsteadily.

There passed through the group a stir and a murmur. Someone broke into
sharp coughing. Chairs, shoved back, grated on the floor.

"Well, of all the extraordinary--" began a voice, ruminatingly, and broke
short off, as if abashed at its own infraction of the silence.

"That's all," repeated Slade, a note of insistence in his voice. "Why
don't you say something? Confound you, why don't you say something?" His
speech rose husky and cracked. "Don't you believe it?"

"Hold on," said the surgeon quietly. "No need to get excited."

"Oh, well," muttered the reporter, with a sudden lapse. "Possibly you
think I'm romancing. It doesn't matter. I don't suppose I'd believe it
myself, in your place."

"But we're heading for the island," suggested Forsythe.

"That's so," cried Slade. "Well, that's all right. Believe or disbelieve
as much as you like. Only get Percy Darrow off that island. Then we'll
have his version. There are a few things I want to find out about,
myself."

"There are several that promise to be fairly interesting," said Forsythe,
under his breath.

Slade turned to the captain. "Have you any questions to put to me, sir?"
he asked formally.

"Just one moment," interrupted Trendon. "Boy, a pony of brandy for Mr.
Slade."

The reporter drank the liquor and again turned to Captain Parkinson.

"Only about our men," said the commanding officer, after a little thought.

Slade shook his head.

"I'm sorry I can't help you there, sir."

"Dr. Trendon said