"So you were. Perhaps that explains it. You understand, this mayn't be the Sylph. I may be wrong—though I don't think I am." Inglis glanced uncomfortably at the chair on which he was sitting. "Why, I believe this is the very chair on which I sat! I remember noticing what a queer shape it was."
It was rather an odd-shaped chair. For that matter, all the things on board were odd.
"Then have you been on board this boat before?"
"Yes." Inglis positively shuddered. "I was, once; if it is the Sylph, that is." He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. He leaned back in his chair. A curious look came into his face. "It is the Sylph, I'll swear to it. It all comes back to me. What an extraordinary coincidence! One might almost think there was something supernatural in the thing."
His manner fairly roused me.
"I wish you would stop speaking in riddles, and tell us what you are driving at."
He became preternaturally solemn.
"Millen, I'm afraid I have made rather an ass of myself; I ought to have held my tongue. But the coincidence is such a strange one that it took me unawares, and since I have said so much I suppose I may as well say more. After dinner I will tell you all there is to tell. I don't think it's a story which Mrs. Millen would like to listen to."
Violet's face was a study.
"I don't understand you, Mr. Inglis, because you are quite well aware it is a principle of mine that what is good for a husband to hear is good for a
