“I guess I'm a fool of the best.”
“Why?” asked Braddock, again puzzled.
“To think,” said Hervey, addressing the mummy, “that you were on board my boat, and I never looted you.”
“What!” Braddock stamped. “Would you have committed theft?”
“Theft be hanged!” was the reply. “It ain't thieving to loot the dead. I guess a corpse hasn't got any use for jewels. You bet I'd have gummed straightways onto that mummy, when I brought it from Malta in the old Diver, had I known it was a jeweler's shop of sorts. Huh! Two emeralds, and I never knew. I could kick myself.”
“You are a blackguard,” gasped the astonished Professor.
“Oh, shucks!” was the elegant retort, “give it a rest. I'm no worse than that dandy gentleman who added murder to stealing, anyhow.”
“Ah!” Braddock bounded off his chair like an india-rubber ball, “you said that you knew who had committed the murder.”
“Wal,” drawled Hervey again, “I do and I don't. That is I suspect, but I can't swear to the business before a judge.”
“Who killed Bolton?” asked the Professor furiously. “Tell me at once.”