These confidences had not been observed by the others, and Miss Avondale appeared to confine her attentions to Sir William, who seemed to be equally absorbed, except that once he lifted his eyes toward Randolph, as if in answer to some remark from her.  It struck Randolph that he was the subject of their conversation, and this did not tend to allay the irritation of a mind already wounded by the contrast of her lack of sympathy for the dead man who had befriended and trusted her to the simple faith of the girl beside him, who was still loyal to a mere childish recollection.

After the ladies had rustled away, Sir William moved his seat beside Randolph.  His manner seemed to combine Mr. Dingwall’s restraint with a certain assumption of the man of the world, more notable for its frankness than its tactfulness.

“Sad business this of my brother’s, eh,” he said, lighting a cigar; “any way you take it, eh?  You saw him last, eh?” The interrogating word, however, seemed to be only an exclamation of habit, for he seldom waited for an answer.

“I really don’t know,” said Randolph, “as I saw him only once, and he left me on the wharf.  I know no more where he went to then than where he came from before.  Of course you must know all the rest, and how he came to be drowned.”

“Yes; it really did not matter much.  The whole question was identification and proof of death, you know.  Beastly job, eh?”

“Was that his body you were helping to get ashore at the wharf one Sunday?” asked Randolph bluntly, now fully recognizing the likeness that had puzzled him in Sir William.  “I didn’t see any resemblance.”

“Precious few would.  I didn’t—­though it’s true I hadn’t seen him for eight years.  Poor old chap been knocked about so he hadn’t a feature left, eh?  But his shipmate knew him, and there were his traps on the ship.”

Then, for the first time, Randolph heard the grim and sordid details of John Dornton’s mysterious disappearance.  He had arrived the morning before that eventful day on an Australian bark as the principal passenger.  The vessel itself had an evil repute, and was believed to have slipped from the hands of the police at Melbourne.  John Dornton had evidently amassed a considerable fortune in Australia, although an examination of his papers and effects showed it to be in drafts and letters of credit and shares, and that he had no ready money—­a fact borne out by the testimony of his shipmates.  The night he arrived was spent in an orgy on board ship, which he did not leave until the early evening of the next day, although, after his erratic fashion, he had ordered a room at a hotel.  That evening he took ashore a portmanteau, evidently intending to pass the night at his hotel.  He was never seen again, although some of the sailors declared that they had seen him on the wharf without the portmanteau, and they had drunk together at a low grog shop on the street corner.  He had evidently fallen through some hole in the wharf.  As he was seen only with the sailors, who also knew he had no ready money on his person, there was no suspicion of foul play.