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This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. No police officers or lurking storms were anywhere in sight. " "So it seems," observed the woollen-draper, "and for every one else, too. what’s your name again?” He asked. ’ A question leapt into Everett’s head and he recalled the letter to the Abbess. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. “Not much,” he answered, “and yet about all there is to be known, I fancy. Still silence everywhere. I don’t.
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