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Updated: May 19, 2025
But I know you're an imaginative fellow and I can see for myself already that at least three quarters of your yarn can be explained away very easily." "Explain it." "Well, my dear fellow, just look at things for a moment from the point of view of a perfectly innocent and loyal inhabitant of Ransay the Rendalls for instance.
He was grey-haired, with a close-clipped grizzled moustache, loose clothes as though he had shrunk a little in girth, and the unmistakable air of a man who had seen considerably more of the world than the island of Ransay. He received me quite politely and hospitably, but with every moment that passed I grew more acutely conscious of something deterrent behind his courtesy.
The rough road from the shore kept gently mounting and I soon stood high enough to get a very good general idea of the island of Ransay. It was a green, low-lying, undulating fragment of the world, set that morning in a sea of sapphire blue, open to the horizon on the one hand and strewn with sister isles on the other.
Ransay was one of the northern isles of that not unknown archipelago which at the present moment it is safer to leave unnamed. Or perhaps for purposes of reference one may call it The Windy Isles. Somewhere in the same archipelago, twenty or thirty miles to the south'ard, was a particularly important naval base and I began to realise what I had stumbled up against.
"And your very beautiful island," I enquired, in guttural accents that would have made me flee for the police instantly, had I been in their shoes, "so pleasantly situated in the sea what is its name?" They looked a little astonished, as well they might, and then in dry accents the father replied, "Ransay." "Ransay?" I repeated, and then all at once I realised where I was.
"What a very strange story!" murmured Mr. Hobhouse. So this was the tale of my escapade as it was told in Ransay. The doctor's manner of telling it was the best guarantee of his own good faith I could wish, and I was ready now to dismiss the blind incident as a misleading trifle.
The arms of the king were engraved upon the stone near those of the Prince de Condé. The convent was finished and blessed on May 25th, 1621, and dedicated to Notre Dame des Anges. It was on this date that the name of St. Charles was given to the river Ste. Croix, or the Cabir-Coubat of the Indians, in honour of the Reverend Charles de Ransay des Boues, syndic of the Canadian missions.
"I have even been to London and to quite a good many London theatres. In fact I've seen you act before, Mr. Merton." "What an extraordinary way to be found out!" I thought, and aloud I said, "But my name isn't on the programme in Ransay." "It was, when you were last here, you must remember," said she.
"You'll find him at home," was all the comment my host made. But now that there was a prospect of losing their suspicious visitor, the family all at once set about extracting some information regarding the manner of his arrival in their midst. "You'll no have been long in Ransay?" began my hostess. "Oh no, just a short time," I beamed. "You'll not have come by the boat," pronounced my host.
"I promise you, doctor," I said, "that I shall repeat no word of this story except of course in confidence to those who are on the track of this business in Ransay. Only in return you must tell me absolutely frankly if you have seen any grounds for suspecting O'Brien of anything treasonable anything whatever." The doctor shook his head emphatically.
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