We assured him on both points briefly, made our parting salutation, and retired. I may here mention that the salutations which passed between us and him were never anything more than a formal inclination of the head.
Two more facts must be put on record before I close the account of this eventful day.
We met near the foot of the great stairway the man whom I supposed to be James Redpath. He appeared to be engaged in setting right some detail of the machinery made use of by the workers on the platform. I could not but think as I looked upon him that he had all the appearance of being a machine himself, worked by an intellect not his own. Yet he was evidently working with a will.
I stepped forward and stood before him, having first made a sign to Jack.
"James Redpath," I said; "surely it must be James Redpath?"
He started, and looked at me with a surly scowl, but said nothing. The name (of course I used his real name) seemed to remind him of something, but there was no recognition in his eyes. "Don't you remember Bob Easterley?" I said. He looked at me and then his eyes wandered. There was a muddled, wicked look
