It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. A forgotten island beyond the ship lanes, where that grim Hand would falter and move blindly in its search for him! From what he had read, there wouldn't be much to do; and in the idle hours he could write. ‘He had run away with a Frenchwoman, you see, but Everett Charvill—I refer to the general—took care to conceal the matter. “Hill has asked for you, and they will take his depositions to-night.
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