Richard did not order the food for himself.  While it was being brought he sat down in the very chair that he had used so often—­for he had been ushered into his old parlor—­and gazed about him.  There were the same tawdry ornaments on the mantel-piece, and the same books on the dusty shelf.  Nothing was altered except the tenant of that room; but how great a change had taken place in him!  What a face the dingy mirror offered him in place of that which it had shown him last!  When the inn-keeper returned his mind involuntarily conjured up old Trevethick, as he had received from him the key of the ruin, and doggedly taken his compliments upon its workmanship.  Truly, “there is no such thing as forgetting;” and to recall our past to its minutest details at the judgment-day will not be so impracticable as some of us would desire.

Richard had made up his mind exactly as to what he would say to this man, but a question suddenly presented itself, which had been absent from his thoughts from the moment that he had resolved to rescue his enemy.  It was a very simple one, too, and would have occurred to any one else, as it had done already many times to himself.

“Has Mr. Coe been found yet?”

He listened for the answer eagerly, for if such was the case, not only was his journey useless, but had brought him into the very jaws of destruction.  He would have thrown away his life for nothing.

“No, Sir, indeed—­and he never will be,” replied the inn-keeper.  “When the sea don’t give a man up in four-and-twenty hours, it keeps him for good—­at least we always find it so at Gethin.”

“Well, listen to me.  My name is Balfour.  I knew Mr. Coe, and have had dealings with him.  We had arranged a partnership together in a certain mine; and it is my opinion that he came down here upon that business.”

“Very like, Sir.  He was much engaged that way, and made, they say, a pretty penny at it.”

“I was at Plymouth, on my way to join him, when I heard this sad news.  I came to-day post-haste in consequence of it.  The search for him must be renewed to-night.”

“Lor, Sir, it is easy to see you are a stranger in these parts!  I wouldn’t like to go myself where poor Mr. Coe met his end, on so dark a night as this.  It’s a bad path even in daylight along Turlock cliff.”

“He did not take that way, at least I think not.  Have you a ladder about the premises?”

“Yes, sure.”

“And a lantern?”

“Now that’s strange enough, Sir, that you should have inquired for a lantern; for we wanted one just now to see to your horses, and, though they’re looking for it high and low, it can’t be found nowhere.”

“It doesn’t strike you, then, that Mr. Coe might have taken it with him?”

“Lor, Sir,” cried the inn-keeper, with admiration, “and so he must ha’ done!  Of course it strikes one when the thing has been put into one’s head.  Well, ’twas a good lantern, and now ’tis lost.  Dear me, dear me!”