"What do you mean?
I do not understand you.

My son has been arrested." "He has been arrested wrongly, then.

It is I--I alone am responsible." Austin groped for his glasses like a man suddenly enveloped in darkness.
His fingers closed on them and adjusted them on the bridge of his nose.
Through them he surveyed the man before him with close attention.
"Ravenshaw," he said gravely, "either you are mad or I am.

Did not my sister call here to see you on the night my brother was killed, and did you not go with her to Flint House and break into my brother's room?
How, then, could you have killed Robert?
Besides, I saw my son at Penzance to-day.

He tells me he is innocent, and that the murderer is a man whom Robert and Thalassa robbed and wounded on a lonely island thirty years ago, and left there for dead, as they thought.