"I have no remembrance of ever seeing him
before."
"Is that not rather strange," I asked, steeling myself to the task,
"after asserting that he was your husband? He is the owner of this
vessel--Philip Henley."
She reached out gropingly, and grasped the back of a chair, staring at
his face, and then glancing into mine, as though bewildered, suspecting
some trick. I could see her lips move, as if she endeavored to speak,
but could not articulate the words. Henley---for I must call him
that--advanced a step toward us, his thin lips fashioning themselves
into an ironic smile.
"You receive this information about as I supposed you would, Madam," he
said coldly. "I was doubtless the very last person you expected to
encounter. Your accomplice here informs me that I am supposed to be
dead. I am inclined to think you were both mistaken--but not more so
than in regard to my marriage."
She straightened up, her eyes shining.
"You are not Philip Henley," she said firmly. "He is my husband."
The smile widened, revealing the cruel white teeth.
"I expected heroics. It was hardly to be supposed that you would
confess your fraud at once, and--before your lover."
She shrank back, her hands still extended.
"My--my lover--"
"Now stop!" I broke in, every nerve tingling, as I stepped between
them.
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