Rotherby--notwithstanding his sins--had been fastidious in many ways.
The answer seemed to make the matter more comprehensible.
"I was with him when he died," the man said. "It was in just such an
inferno as this. We were alone together, looking for gold in the
Australian desert. We didn't find it, though it was there, mountains of
it. The water gave out. We tossed for the last drain--and I won. That
was how Rotherby came to die. He hadn't much to live for, and he was
going to die, anyhow. A queer chap, he was. He and his wife never lived
together after the smash came, and he had to leave the country. Perhaps
you knew?"
"Yes," the doctor said again, "I knew."
Ford moved his head restlessly.
"The thought of her used to worry him in the night," he said. "I've
known him lie for hours not sleeping, just staring up at the stars, and
thinking, thinking. I've sometimes thought that the worst torture on
earth can't equal that. You know, after he was dead, they found her
miniature on him--a thing in a gold case, with their names engraved
inside. He used to wear it round his neck like a charm. It was by that
they identified him--that and his signet-ring, and one or two letters.
Scamp though I was, I had the grace not to rob the dead. They sent the
things to his wife. I've often wondered what she did with them."
"I can tell you that," said the doctor quietly.
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