This theory gained credence when later the body of a man, answering to Hallam's description, was discovered in a lonely spot a day's journey from the halt where he had left the train. There was nothing to show how the man had met his death, and, owing to the state of the body, recognition of the features was impossible; but the clothes were the clothes which Hallam had been wearing, and in the pockets were letters addressed to Hallam, and the watch which had been a present to him from his wife. The facts seemed to point conclusively to this being the missing man; otherwise how came he to be wearing Hallam's clothes, and where was the owner? Had Hallam been alive he would assuredly have come forward to refute the finding at the inquest on the dead man, whose identity could only be established by his garments and the papers discovered on him. There was no doubt in Jim Bainbridge's mind, when he viewed the body, that it was that of Paul Hallam; and, although for a long while Esme refused to believe that her husband was dead, the hope which she cherished of his being alive was a forlorn hope, which faded with the passing of time into a reluctant acceptance of the general belief. It was during the period of uncertainty, when her mind still obstinately rejected the evidence of her husband's death, that Esme decided to give up her house in Cape Town and move to Port Elizabeth in order to be near her sister. She felt too nervous and unstrung to remain alone in a place where her only intimate friends were the Garfields; she wanted to be nearer her own people. To the infinite satisfaction of John and Mary, she took a house, with a good garden attached, in Park Drive, and brought her furniture round with the definite intention of making her home there. Promptly with her arrival John packed his suit-case and invited himself to stay with her. He could, he informed her, be of considerable use to her in the business of settling in. John at the age of twelve was quite a man of the world. In her loneliness she was glad of his company. This young kinsman of hers was the most tactful member of her family. He never distressed her with references to his uncle; he took his disappearance as a matter of course, very much as he had taken his marriage with his aunt. These things were incidental, and a little surprising: they were episodes in the pleasant business of life. Since the loss of his uncle had brought his aunt back he was less concerned about it than he otherwise would have been. He found it interesting to assist in moving in, to take over the direction and arrangement of everything. It needed a man to do that. "Dad's getting old," he informed Esme, when he took up his residence with her. "But you can always count on me when you want a man about." "That's very nice of you, John," she said. "You are a great help to me."