“Was it terrible for you after he died?” “Don’t worry yourself about it John. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. Now tell me, if you can, something about the man who calls himself Valade. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door.
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