now that the phenomena has come
to pass and all its mysterious causes have been wiped out by the
upheaval, people will never know anything except what I have observed
by personal experiments. They will put forward theories, draw
inferences, form conclusions. _But they will not see._ Now I . . .
have _seen_."

Simon, who was only half listening, interrupted:

"In the meantime, my dear professor, I am hungry. Will you have some
dinner?"

"No, thanks. I must catch the train to Dover and cross to-night. It
seems the Calais-Dover boats are running again; and I have no time to
lose if I'm to publish an article and take up a definite position." He
glanced at his watch. "Phew! It's jolly late! . . . If only I don't
lose my train! . . . See you soon, my boy!" . . .

He departed.

The other person sitting in the dark had not stirred during this
conversation and, to Simon's great astonishment, did not stir either
after Old Sandstone had taken his leave. Simon, at switching on the
light, was amazed to find himself face to face with an individual
resembling in every respect the man whose body he had seen near the
wreck on the previous evening. There was the same brick-red face, the
same prominent cheek-bones, the same long hair, the same buff leather
clothing. This man, however, was very much younger, with a noble
bearing and a handsome face.

"A true Indian chief," thought Simon, "and it seems to me that I have
seen him before. . . . Yes, I have certainly seen him somewhere. But
where? And when?"

The stranger was silent. Simon asked him:

"What can I do for you, please?"

The other had risen to his feet. He went to the little table on which
Simon had emptied his pockets, took up the coin with the head of
Napoleon I. which Simon had found the day before and, speaking
excellent French, but in a voice whose guttural tone harmonized with
his appearance, said:

"You picked up this coin yesterday, on your way here, near a dead
body, did you not?"

His guess was so correct and so unexpected that Simon could but
confirm it:

"I did . . . near a man who had just been stabbed to death."

"Perhaps you were able to trace the murderer's footprints?"

"Yes."

"They were prints of bathing-shoes or tennis-shoes, with patterned
rubber soles?"

"Yes, yes!" said Simon, more and more puzzled. "But how do you know
that?"

"Well, sir," continued the man whom Simon silently called the Indian,
without replying to the question,