“I forget. I think he was tall and thin. He’d a small dark moustache.”
“Do you see that couple in the corner reading? He’s reading the Sketch. Is that the man?”
Robert looked at him carefully. “Yes. That’s him. I’d know him anywhere. He hasn’t changed.”
“Don’t move for a minute. Stand right here and look out at the water. Be talking to me. I want to have a look at them before I speak.”
He obediently stared at the broken, foam-flecked waves of the Channel. He said, in a hurried undertone:
“Take my advice, Camilla. Don’t speak to these people. You’ve an impossible idea in your head. They’ll think you’re crazy. Take my advice, just for once. Just take my advice, Camilla.”
“I’m always taking your advice,” she retorted. “But I’d never have another moment’s peace if I didn’t probe this thing. Robert—Palmer looks like that woman! God, she smiled then and it was Palmer’s smile! I’m going to speak to her.”
She went straight over to the two people absorbed in their illustrated weeklies. She said, in her clear, emphatic voice, her body tense:
“Pardon me, but aren’t you Mrs. Rendel?”
The Englishwoman raised her eyes to Camilla’s face in a look that was curious but not unfriendly.
“Yes,” she answered, “I am!”
Captain Rendel had got to his feet. His expression was polite but slightly irritated. Then, as he noticed how attractive Camilla was, his irritation faded.
Camilla looked straight into Mrs. Rendel’s eyes. “We’ve never met,” she said, “but we went through the same experience in rooms opposite one another in Miss Holt’s nursing home in London, thirteen years ago last November. Do you remember?”
Mrs. Rendel looked puzzled, then smiled. She said,—“Yes, I remember. There was an American baby born the same day as my boy. Are, you his mother?”
“Yes. I’m Camilla Wylde. This is my husband.”
Robert’s face was heavy with reluctance as he came forward and shook hands. He said to Captain Rendel:
“You saved me from falling when I was getting into the elevator in the nursing home. Do you remember?”
It was plain that Captain Rendel did not remember. But he said,—“Yes, yes,—of course.”
“I guess I’ve changed a lot since then. I’ve got a corporation and grey hair. But I’d have known you anywhere.” He looked anxiously at Camilla, waiting to see what she would do next.
Captain Rendel dragged forward two empty chairs and the four sat down somewhat uneasily.
“I’m afraid we’re just going to dock,” said Mrs. Rendel. “I must find Mark.”
Camilla twisted her fingers together in her lap. She was very pale. “I’ve got something terribly important to say,” she began breathlessly. “It’s about our two boys. You must listen to me.”
“For my part,” interrupted Robert, “I’m against saying anything. I think it’s a mistake.”
Camilla’s fine grey eyes looked searchingly into Captain Rendel’s face. “You wouldn’t want to live under a delusion, would you? If you found something mysterious in your life I think you’d want to clear it up.”
Now he looked defensive but he said,—“Yes. I’d want to clear it up.”
“Oh, you must think I’m crazy! But I’m not. It’s only that a terrible suspicion is tormenting me. That is, ever since I saw your boy and my husband together. Your boy is the image of my husband.” She saw the blood mount to their faces. Their look of wanting to escape from a demented person. “Please don’t think I’m crazy,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “This is as terrible for me as it is for you. What I think has happened is that the nurse got our babies mixed and that you have our boy and that we have yours.”
The colour receded from Mrs. Rendel’s face. It looked pale and set. She rose. She was a fine-looking woman in a careless blond way, as though she lived a country life and had never had anything in it to conceal. She said coldly, addressing Robert:
“I think you will understand that my husband and I can’t listen to this. I’m afraid your wife is not well.”
He was miserably embarrassed, still he couldn’t have Camilla spoken of that way. He said:
“My wife’s well enough, but she’s worried to death over this thing. And it does seem queer when you think about it.”
He looked so sane, his blunt features so steady, yet so troubled, they had to give him their attention, their respect. Mrs. Rendel addressed him:
“Do you yourself think there is anything in this?”
“Well, I don’t know what to think.” He hesitated, then added, as with an effort,—“We’ve often wondered about Palmer’s looks. He doesn’t resemble either of our families.”
Camilla interrupted,—“But he does look like you, Mrs. Rendel. Before I spoke to you I saw you smile and—it was Palmer’s smile. He has hazel eyes, so have you.” Her eyes devoured Mrs. Rendel. “And there’s so much more! The set of the head—the curve of the chin—the bend of the eyebrows—it’s amazing.”
Mrs. Rendel replied curtly,—“It’s impossible.”
Captain Rendel looked about him. “People are staring at us,” he said. “We can’t talk about it here. Anyhow, we’re landing.”
The two boys came running up. They looked surprised, almost shocked, to find their parents talking familiarly together. Then Palmer exclaimed:
“Say, there’s the funniest-looking gull up there! It’s different than any of the others. Come and look! Golly, it’s the grandfather of them all.”
He talked on but no one heard what he said. The four stood transfixed, their eyes scrutinizing the two candid boy faces, while fearful suspicion linked them together in a chain from which they could not tear themselves.
Phyllis Rendel tried to. “There is nothing in this,” she said, “and I refuse to listen to it.”
“We must listen,” objected her husband. “We can’t shirk it. We shall have to meet again. Where are you staying?”
“At the Dorchester,” answered Robert. “Can you come there tomorrow morning? Then we’ll be able to talk in peace.”
“Yes. We’ll be there,” answered Captain Rendel at once.
“It’s been terrible to me to speak of this,” said Camilla. “But I had to. I couldn’t go on in such appalling uncertainty, could I?”
“I think it would have been much better,” answered Phyllis Rendel. She began to gather up her belongings in a confused way,
