ay they
were alone?--and securing him in the boat, when no escape would have
been possible, as they could have made straight for the floating station
at Westminster. It was a daring idea, and might have succeeded but for
that mooring-cable.

The body of the sergeant showed marks of the severity of the struggle in
which he had been engaged. The two upper front teeth were loosened,
probably by the blow he received at the outset, and there were
finger-nail dents on the throat as from the grasp of a strangling hand.
That his opponent should have disengaged himself from his clutch was
matter of extreme surprise to all who had experienced submersion, and
knew its meaning. Even to those who have never been under water against
their will, the phrase "the grip of a drowning man" has a terribly
convincing sound. That this opponent rose to the surface alive, and
escaped, was barely entertained as a surmise, only to be dismissed as
incredible; and this improbability became even greater when his
companion was captured alone, a month later, in the commission of a
burglary at Castelnau, which--so it was supposed--the two had been
discussing just before the police-boat appeared. The two rowers were
rescued, one, a powerful swimmer, having kept the other afloat till the
arrival of help. At the inquest neither of these men seemed as much
concerned at Ibbetson's death as might have been expected, and both
condemned afterwards that officer's treacherous grip of the hand
extended to help him. Whatever he knew to his proposed prisoner's
disadvantage, there are niceties of honour in these matters--little
chivalries all should observe.

The only evidence towards establishing the identity of the man who had
disappeared was that of the stroke-oar, Simeon Rowe, the rescuer of his
companion. This man's version of Ibbetson's exclamation was "Thorney
Davenant!--I know you, my man!" At the time of the inquest, no
identification was made with any name whose owner was being sought by
the Police, so no one caught the clue it furnished. There may have been
slowness or laxity of investigation, but a sufficient excuse may lie in
the fact that Ibbetson certainly spoke the name wrong, or that his
hearer caught it wrong. The name was not Davenant, but Daverill. He was
the son of old Mrs. Prichard, of Sapps Court, called after his father,
and inheriting all his worst qualities. If Sergeant Ibbetson spoke truly
when he said "I know you!" to him, he was certai