"Who, then, brought back that journal?" asked Captain Len Guy, as he seized Hunt's hand.
"It was Pym's companion, he who loved him, his poor Pym, like a son. It was Dirk Peters, the half-breed, who came back alone from there—beyond."
"The half-breed, Dirk Peters!" I exclaimed.
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Alone."
"And Arthur Pym may be—"
"There," answered Hunt, in a loud voice, bending towards the southern line, from which he had not diverted his gaze for a moment.
Could such an assertion prevail against the general incredulity? No, assuredly not! Martin Holt nudged Hurliguerly with his elbow, and both regarded Hunt with pity, while West observed him without speaking. Captain Len Guy made me a sign, meaning that nothing serious was to be got out of this poor fellow, whose mental faculties must have been out of gear for a long time.
And nevertheless, when I looked keenly at Hunt, it seemed to me that a sort of radiance of truth shone out of his eyes.
Then I set to work to interrogate the man, putting to him precise and pressing questions which he tried to answer categorically, as we shall see, and not once did he contradict himself.
"Tell me," I asked, "did Arthur Pym really come to Tsalal Island on board the Grampus?"
"Yes."
"Did Arthur Pym separate himself, with the half-breed and one of the sailors, from his companions while
