“That knife was the knife of a seaman named George Radfoot.”

“It was.”

“That seaman was well beknown to me.”

“He was.”

“What’s come to him?”

“Death has come to him. Death came to him in an ugly shape. He looked,” said the man, “very horrible after it.”

“Arter what?” said Riderhood, with a frowning stare.

“After he was killed.”

“Killed? Who killed him?”

Only answering with a shrug, the man filled the footless glass, and Riderhood emptied it: looking amazedly from his daughter to his visitor.