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Updated: June 25, 2025
He was incapable of it, and Major Stanleigh and myself had simply to wait in patience while Leavitt, delighted to have an audience, dumped out for us the fantastic contents of his mind, odd vagaries, recondite trash, and all. He was always getting away from Farquharson, but, then, he was unfailingly bound to come back to him.
Miss Stanleigh, who for the last hour had been standing by the rail, silently watching the island, at last spoke to me over her shoulder: "Is it far inland the place? Will it be difficult to find in the dark?" Her question staggered me, for she was clearly bent on seeking out Leavitt at once. A strange calmness overlay her.
"I devoutly hope you are right," Miss Stanleigh was saying, with deliberation. "But it is not preposterous, and it is not impossible if you had known Mr. Farquharson as I have." It was a discreet confession. She wished me to understand without the necessity of words.
Only met him a fortnight ago. Quite a romance, I'm told." I lifted my eyebrows at that, and looked again at Miss Stanleigh. Just at that instant she happened to look up. It was a wholly indifferent gaze; I am confident that she was no more aware of me than if I had been one of the veranda posts which her eyes had chanced to encounter.
I sat down beside Miss Stanleigh on the veranda steps to find my hands sooty from the touch of the boards. A fine volcanic ash was evidently drifting in the air and now to my ear, attuned to the profound stillness, the wind bore a faint humming sound. "Do you hear that?" I whispered.
But the peril of discovery, the chance that those sleeping below might waken and hear us, held me in a vise of indecision. "If I could bring myself to reproach you, Captain," he went on, ironically polite, "I might protest that your last visit to this island savoured of a too-inquisitive intrusion. You'll pardon my frankness. I had convinced you and Major Stanleigh that Farquharson was dead.
Miss Stanleigh remained lost in thought while her fingers toyed with the pendant of the chain that she wore. In the darkness I caught the glitter of a small gold cross. "Mr. Barnaby," she finally broke the silence, and paused. "I have decided to tell you something. This Mr. Farquharson was my husband."
Miss Stanleigh, who for the last hour had been standing by the rail, silently watching the island, at last spoke to me over her shoulder: "Is it far inland the place? Will it be difficult to find in the dark?" Her question staggered me, for she was clearly bent on seeking out Leavitt at once. A strange calmness overlay her.
"I should not care to talk with Mr. Leavitt," Miss Stanleigh cut me short. "I want only to go and see if he is Mr. Leavitt." "If he is Mr. Leavitt!" For a moment I was mystified, and then in a sudden flash I understood. "But that's pre-posterous impossible!"
Stanleigh rejoined her husband at Nice, and together they returned to their home in Sussex, a surprise was in store for them. Eleanor was already there alone, crushed, and with lips absolutely sealed. She had divested herself of everything that linked her to Farquharson; she refused to adopt her married name.
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