"Have you ever met with any such thing before?" she asked.

"No case is quite like another. They all have their differences. I
think that Captain Redmayne, who has suffered from shell shock, must
have been overtaken by loss of reason. Shell shock often produces
dementia of varying degrees--some lasting, some fleeting. I'm afraid
your uncle went out of his mind and, in a moment of madness, may
have done a dreadful thing. Then he set out, while he was still
insane, to cover up his action. So far as we can judge, he took away
his victim and meant apparently to throw him into the sea. I feel
only too sure that your husband has lost his life, Mrs. Pendean. You
must be prepared to accept that unspeakable misfortune."

"It is hard to accept," she answered, "because they were good
friends again."

"Something of which you do not know may have cropped up between them
to upset Redmayne. When he comes to his senses, he will probably
think the whole thing an evil dream. Have you a portrait of your
husband?"

She left the room and returned in a few moments with a photograph.
It presented a man of meditative countenance, wide forehead, and
steadfast eyes. He wore a beard, mustache and whiskers, and his hair
was rather long.

"Is that like him?"

"Yes; but it does not show his expression. It is not quite
natural--he was more animated than that."