"I procured these," Norton went on. "I brought them to Mr. Hoogendyk. First I showed him the portrait of Arthur Allen; he did not recognise it. Then I gave him the portrait of Henry Carew. 'This, of course,' he at once said, 'is the photograph of Mr. Allen, the Englishman who came here with the little yacht.' Then I knew that I was on the right track. Shortly afterwards, a paragraph which appeared in a London evening paper brought me promptly here, armed with an extradition warrant. I have the paragraph here. It is headed '_A Strange Story of the Sea._' I will read it to you. '_A telegram from Pernambuco states that a French barque, the_ La Bonne Esperance, _has been brought into that port a derelict. She was picked up by the crew of an English yacht, the_ Petrel. _The_ Petrel _had foundered in the South Atlantic. Mr. Allen, the owner, and his three men took to the dinghy, and, after drifting for several days, encountered the deserted barque, which they sailed into Pernambuco. The salvage is likely to far more than compensate Mr. Allen for the loss of his yacht._' That is all I need say at present." The consul spoke next. "There is a Mr. Rudge here, who has been in Pernambuco for some weeks, who can also throw a light on this matter." The consul touched the bell, and the man who had assumed the name of Rudge was shown into the room. He closed the door behind him, and stood with his back against it. "This gentleman," said the consul deliberately, "affirms that _he_ is Arthur Allen, the barrister, the owner of the lost yacht." All in the room now turned their eyes upon Carew, to watch the effect upon him of this sudden presence. Yes, it was indeed Allen, though pale and thin, as if he had but just recovered from a sudden illness, that Carew saw before him. And now this strange being, who had fallen into such depths of crime, and who yet loathed crime so intensely, behaved in the manner that might have been expected from him. The better man declared himself at last. On beholding this accuser, who had risen thus suddenly from the dead, he displayed no guilty terror. On the contrary, an expression of great relief, of joy, almost of triumph, lit up his face, and the lines of care faded away from it. They all watched him with wonder. Then he spoke quietly, in tones that carried conviction. No one could doubt but that the words were from his heart. "Yes, I am Henry Carew. I am guilty of all that I am accused of, and of more, and worse things. But I am glad, indeed glad--and little gladness has been my lot of late--to see you, Arthur Allen, standing there alive before me. There is one less crime on my soul. Yes, I am now happy; happier than I deserve to be. I am quite ready to pay the penalty of my sins." There was a nobility in his countenance as he stood up erect, with none of the shrinking criminal about him. He felt as if he were out of the world already; he was free from petty fears now.