They had not proceeded far when a low moan was heard. . . " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. " "Ah, yes; that's all very well. What a God-forsaken fool he was! And dimly, out there somewhere in the South Seas—the beach! Already he sensed the fascination of the inevitable; and with this fascination came the idea of haste, to get there quickly and have done. The stranger concluded he could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house. You don’t understand.
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