Chapter XI
Jack Renauld
WHAT the next development of the conversation would have been, I cannot say, for at that moment the door was thrown violently open, and a tall young man strode into the room.
Just for a moment I had the uncanny sensation that the dead man had come to life again. Then I realized that this dark head was untouched with gray, and that, in point of fact, it was a mere boy who now burst in among us with so little ceremony. He went straight to Mrs. Renauld with an impetuosity that took no heed of the presence of others.
“Mother!”
“Jack!” With a cry she folded him in her arms. “My dearest! But what brings you here? You were to sail on the Anzora from Cherbourg two days ago?” Then, suddenly recalling to herself the presence of others, she turned with a certain dignity. “My son, messieurs.”
“Aha!" said M. Hautet, acknowledging the young man’s bow. “So you did not sail on the Anzora?”
“No, monsieur. As I was about to explain, the Anzora was detained twenty-four hours through engine trouble. I should have sailed last night instead of the night before, but, happening to buy an evening paper, I saw in it an account of the—the awful tragedy that had befallen us—” His voice broke and the
83
