I think Dirk must have been away for some days, for I don't remember his questioning me on the strange shadow that had so suddenly darkened my life. If he had been at my lodging he couldn't but have seen that something desperately wrong had taken place. It wasn't till I had regained something of my self-control that I remember seeing him again. Then he eyed me wonderingly as though enquiring the cause of my strangeness. I think he must have told himself some early love affair had upset me, for he smiled knowingly, and talked about girls being the devil, declaring they weren't worth a broken heart, nor yet a sleepless night even. I let him think what he would, and kept my own counsel. I didn't dare tell him the truth, for he would say the blame was his, as indeed to some extent it was; for if he hadn't rescued me, as he imagined, I should soon have been freed of the gag about my face, and then Worthing would have recognized me, and all would have been well. So I kept away from Dirk as much as I could. It was easy enough, for he seemed to be hot on the trail again. I wandered off by myself, though where I used to get to I don't know. Then I began to try to piece the mystery together, but little enough could I fit consistently. I knew now that my first surmise had been correct: I had been mistaken for my father's murderer, for it was obvious that Worthing wouldn't knowingly have treated me as he had done. There would have been no sense in it. I couldn't help complaining bitterly at the amazing ill luck, as it seemed, which had taken me to Naples just when Worthing happened to have traced his quarry there. Of course he couldn't have dreamt of my presence; and I had grown, and my face was tanned brown; his uncle had never seen me before, and in the boat when Worthing had first looked upon me my face was half covered with the gag. All this seemed like a deliberate trick of some malignant devil of fate, and I felt the weight of the old curse bear heavily upon me like a burden. Beyond this I could establish little to my satisfaction. How Worthing had obtained the manuscript I couldn't think. I supposed he had stolen it from the murderer, and was using it to show he knew what he was about. But what puzzled me was that he had seemed to suggest that there was some piece of information he wanted for which he was willing to allow my father's murderer to escape. He had wanted, in fact, to learn the mystery of the treasure cave. Why? I asked myself. I couldn't believe he had been led away from his quest by the lure of gold. There must be something deeper underlying it all, something which lay concealed in the earth which to Worthing was of greater importance even than the dragging to justice of a murderer. It must be something of rare importance, I argued, if it were worth such a prize, for I knew his enthusiasm for justice--which to him was like a physical passion.