"Not at all the style of man. You understand," he insisted,
superfluously, looking hard at me.
I smiled urbanely. He seemed at a loss for a while.
"I suppose I must report a suicide."
"Suicide! That's what I'll have to write to my owners directly I get
"Unless you manage to recover him before tomorrow," I assented,
dispassionately. . . . "I mean, alive."
He mumbled something which I really did not catch, and I turned my ear
to him in a puzzled manner. He fairly bawled:
"The land--I say, the mainland is at least seven miles off my