Dormer finished off his Manhattan and looked quizzically at Young. “So you think the nine men who went into the mine escaped?”

Young smiled. “Nobody actually saw them enter, Mr. Dormer. It was assumed, and reasonably so, that they died down there in the black waters because they were never heard from again.”

“Not enough evidence,” Dormer said.

“Oh, I have more, lots more,” Young replied enthusiastically.

“I’m listening.”

“Item One: The Little Angel’s lowest working chamber was a good hundred feet above the mean water level. At worst, the walls leaked only moderately from surface accumulations. The lower shaft levels were already flooded because the water had gradually built up during the years the mine was originally shut down. Therefore, there was no way a dynamite blast could have unleashed a tidal wave of water over my uncle and his crew.

“Item Two: The equipment supposedly found in the mine after the accident was old, used junk. Those men were professionals, Mr. Donner. They’d never have gone below the surface with second-rate machinery.

“Item Three: Though he made it known to everyone that he was reopening the mine, my uncle never once consulted or discussed the project with Ernest Bloeser, the man who owned the Little Angel. In short, my uncle was claim jumping. An unthinkable act to a man of his moral reputation.

“Item Four: The first warning of possible disaster didn’t come until the next afternoon, when the foreman of the Satan Mine, one Bill Mahoney, found a note under his cabin door that said, `Help! Little Angel Mine. Come Quick!’ A most strange method to sound an alarm, don’t you think? Naturally, the note was unsigned.

“Item Five: The sheriff in Central City stated that my uncle had given him a list of the crew’s names with the request that he give it to the newspapers in case of a fatal accident. An odd premonition, to say the least. It was as if Uncle Joshua wanted to be certain there was no mistaking the victims’ identities.”

Donner pushed back his plate and drank a glass of water. “I find your theory intriguing, but not fully convincing.”

“Ali, but finally, perhaps above all, Mr. Donner, I have saved the piece de resistance until last.

“Item Six Several months after the tragedy, my mother and father, who were on a tour through Europe, saw my uncle standing on the boat-train platform in Southampton, England. My mother often related how she went up to him and said, `God in heaven, Joshua, is it really you?’ The face that stared back at her was bearded and deathly white, the eyes glassy. `Forget me,’ he whispered and then turned and ran. My father chased him down the platform but soon lost him in the crowd.”

“The logical answer is a simple case of mistaken identity.”

“A sister who doesn’t know her own brother?” Young said sarcastically. “Come now, Mr. Donner, surely you could pick your brother out of a crowd?”

“‘Fraid not. I was an only child.”