Long after the camp had gone to bed, I lay on the pine-needles above the brook, shielded from the wind by a break in the slope, and thought of the strange happenings of that day.  Presently the waning moon climbed reluctantly from the waters, and the stream became mottled, black and white, the trees tall blurs.  The lake rose and fell with a mighty rhythm, and the little brook hurried madly over the stones to join it.  One thought chased another from my brain.

At such times, when one’s consciousness of outer things is dormant, an earthquake might continue for some minutes without one realizing it.  I did not observe, though I might have seen from where I lay, the flap of one of the tents drawn back and two figures emerge.  They came and stood on the bank above, under the tree which sheltered me.  And I experienced a curious phenomenon.  I heard, and understood, and remembered the first part of the conversation which passed between them, and did not know it.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” said one.

“Not at all,” said the other, whose tone, I thought afterwards, betokened surprise, and no great cheerfulness.

“But I have had no other opportunity to speak with you.”

“No,” said the other, rather uneasily.

Suddenly my senses were alert, and I knew that Mr. Trevor had pulled the detective out of bed.  The senator had no doubt anticipated an easier time, and he now began feeling for an opening.  More than once he cleared his throat to commence, while Mr. Drew pulled his scant clothing closer about him, his whiskers playing in the breeze.

“In Cincinnati, Mr. Drew,” said Mr. Trevor, at length, “I am a known, if not an influential, citizen; and I have served my state for three terms in its Senate.”

“I have visited your city, Mr. Trevor,” answered Mr. Drew, his teeth chattering audibly, “and I know you by reputation.”

“Then, sir,” Mr. Trevor continued, with a flourish which appeared absolutely grotesque in his attenuated costume, “it must be clear to you that I cannot give my consent to a flagrant attempt by an unscrupulous person to violate the laws of this country.”

“Your feelings are to be respected, sir.”

Mr. Trevor cleared his throat again. 
“Discretion is always to be observed, Mr. Drew.  And I, who have been in
the public service, know the full value of it.”

Mr. Trevor leaned forward, at the same time glancing anxiously up at the tree, for fear, perhaps, that Mr. Cooke might be concealed therein.  He said in a stage whisper: 

“A criminal is concealed on this island.”

Drew started perceptibly.

“Yes,” said Mr. Trevor, with a glance of triumph at having produced an impression on a detective, “I thought it my duty to inform you.  He has been hidden by the followers of the unscrupulous person I referred to, in a cave, I believe.  I repeat, sir, as a man of unimpeachable standing, I considered it my duty to tell you.”