My grandfather was still in Guernsey.  His leg had taken longer to heal than it might have done, and, failing my information against the Herm men, his was of use to the authorities in preparing the charge against them.

There were near forty prisoners brought over from Sercq, some of them so sorely wounded that it was doubtful if they would live until their trial.  The rest had been killed, except some few who were said to have got across to France.  To my great relief neither young Torode nor his mother was among the dead or the captives.

Krok was supposed in Sercq to be with my grandfather in Guernsey, and his absence excited no remark.  For myself, in Sercq my absence was accounted for by the necessity for my being in Guernsey,—­while in Guernsey an exaggerated account of the wound I had received on the Coupee offered excuse for my retirement; and so the matter passed without undue comment.

George Hamon had informed my grandfather of his recognition of Torode, and he told me afterwards that for a very long time the old man flatly refused to believe it.

My news of Torode’s recovery was not, I think, over-welcome to Uncle George.  He would have preferred him dead, and the old trouble buried for ever, forgetting always that his death must have left something of a cloud on my life, though he always argued strongly against that view of the case.

“I find it hard to swallow, mon gars, in spite of George Hamon’s assurance,” said my grandfather when we spoke of it.

“I found it hard to believe.  But Uncle George had no doubts about it.  Krok, too, recognised him.”

“Krok did?  Ah—­then—­” and he nodded slow acceptance of the unwelcome fact.

Before I was through with the telling of my story, and signing it, and swearing to it before various authorities, I was heartily sick of the whole matter, and wished, as indeed I had good reason, that I had never sailed with John Ozanne in the Swallow.

But—­“pas de rue sans but”—­and at last all that unpleasing business was over—­except a little after-clap of which you will hear presently.

After many delays and formalities, all the prisoners were condemned to death, and I was free to go home and be my own man again.

Twice while in Guernsey I had taken advantage of the slow course of the law to run across to Jersey and so to the Ecrehous, and found Torode settled down in dumb bitterness to the narrow life that was left to him.

He was quite recovered in every way save that of speech, but that great loss broke his power and cut him off from his kind.

I had never told him that his wound came from my hand, but he associated me with it in some way, and showed so strong a distaste for my company that I thought well to go no more.

He had taken a dislike to old Krok too.  Their common loss had in it the elements of mockery, and on my second visit Krok expressed a desire to return to Sercq.  Torode could maintain himself by fishing, as they had done together, and could barter his surplus at Rozel or Gorey for anything he required.