"No," replied Monteith, casting a careless glance at it. "But, then, I never was in his cabin. We sat next to one another in the saloon at meals, and talked together a good deal. Beyond the story I told you I know nothing about his life."
"Excuse me putting the question to you again; but do you really think this Maltese wife killed him?"
"Well, of course, I can't say for certain, but it looks very black against her. She wrote and told him she would kill him."
"Oh!" interrupted the captain, "did he show you the letter?"
"No; but it might be among his private papers, which you will of course take charge of."
"Yes; I will look over his things to-night. But go on."
"Well, he goes on shore at Valletta, sees his wife, who recognises him, comes back, she follows, hears the number of his cabin, and kills him."
"And then?"
"Well, the question is easy to answer. She must have committed the crime before nine o'clock, and escaped on shore in the confusion, or----"
"Well."