Then he began to ask himself how that farewell token, the golden coin,
which he had taken from his pocket in that parting hour, and upon which
he had idly scratched his own initial, had come into the possession of
Joseph Duncombe.
He was not a man of the world, and he was not able to reason calmly and
logically on the subject of his brother's untimely fate. He shared
Joyce's rooted idea, that the escape of Valentine's murderer was only
temporary, and that, sooner or later, accident would disclose the
criminal.
It seemed now as if the eventful moment had come. Here, on this spot,
near the scene of his brother's disappearance, he came upon this
token--this relic, which told that Valentine had been in some manner
associated with Joseph Duncombe.
And yet Joseph Duncombe and George had talked long and earnestly on the
subject of the murdered sailor's fate, and in all their talk Captain
Duncombe had never acknowledged any acquaintance with its details.
This was strange.
Still more incomprehensible to George Jernam was the fact that
Valentine should have parted with the farewell token, except with his
life, for his last words to his brother had been--
"I'll keep the bit of gold, George, to my dying day, in memory of your
fidelity and love."
There had been something more between these two men than a common
brotherhood: there had been the bond of a joyless childhood spent
together, and their affection for each other was more than the ordinary
love of brothers.
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