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Bendigo Redmayne was square and solid with
the cut of the sea about him. His uncovered head blazed with
flaming, close-clipped hair and he wore also a short, red beard and
whiskers growing grizzled. But his long upper lip was shaved. He had
a weather-beaten face--ruddy and deepening to purple about the cheek
bones--with eyebrows, rough as bent grass, over deep-set, sulky eyes
of reddish brown. His mouth was underhung, giving him a pugnacious
and bad-tempered appearance. Nor did his looks appear to libel the
old sailor. To Brendon, at any rate, he showed at first no very
great consideration.
"You've come I see," he said, shaking hands. "No news?"
"None, Mr. Redmayne."
"Well, well! To think Scotland Yard can't find a poor soul that's
gone off his rocker!"
"You might have helped us to do so," said Mark shortly, "if it's
true that you've had a letter from your brother."
"I'm doing it, ain't I? It's here for you."
"You've lost two days."
Bendigo Redmayne grunted.
"Come in and see the letter," he said.


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