Uncle Loveday read it over three or four times; then folded up the letter and looked at me over his spectacles.
"You say this cut-throat fellow--this Rhodojani, as he called himself--spoke English ?" "As well as we do.

He and the other spoke English all the time." "H'm! And he talked about a Jenny, did he ?" "He was saying something about 'Jenny not finding a husband' when John Railton struck him." "Then it's clear as daylight that he's called Simon, and not Georgio.
Also if I ever bet (though far be it from me) I would bet my buttons that his name is no more Rhodojani than mine is Methuselah." He paused for a moment, absorbed in thought; then resumed-- "This Lucy Railton is John Railton's wife and keeps a public-house called the 'Welcome Home!' on the Barbican, Plymouth.

Simon, that is to say Rhodojani, was in love with Lucy Railton, and his conduct, says she, was strange before leaving; but he pretended to be John Railton's friend, and, from what you say, must have had an astonishing influence over the unhappy man.

Simon, we learn, is a scholar," pursued my uncle, after again consulting the letter, "and I see the word 'office' here, which makes it likely that he was a clerk of some kind, who took to the sea for some purpose of his own, and induced Railton to go with him, perhaps for the same purpose, perhaps for another.

Anyhow, it seems it was high time for Railton to go somewhere, for besides the references to liquor, which tally with Simon's words upon Dead Man's Rock, we also meet with the ominous words 'the fuss,' wherein, Jasper, I find the definite article not without meaning." Uncle Loveday was beaming with conscious pride in his own powers of penetration.