“Meaning the mummy?”
“I reckon that's so, unless I am mistaken,” said Hervey serenely.
“Why didn't you go to the police with this information?”
“Me? Not much. Why, I saw no way of making dollars. And then, again, I did not think of putting things together, until I found that his lorship—”
“Meaning Sir Frank,” interpolated the Professor, frowning.
“I'm talking Queen's, or King's, or Republican lingo, I guess, and I do mean his lorship,” said the skipper dryly—“until I found that his lorship had been in the public-house where the crime was committed.”
“The Sailor's Rest? When did he go there?”
“In the evening. After his talk with Bolton, and after a row—as they both seemed to have their hair off—he skipped over the side and went back to his yacht, which wasn't far away. Bolton took his blamed mummy ashore and got fixed at the Sailor's Rest. I gathered afterwards, from the second mate of The Diver (which ain't my ship now), that his lorship came into the hotel and had a drink. Afterwards my second mate saw him talking to Bolton through the window.”
“In the same place as the woman talked?” questioned the Professor.
“That's so, only it was later in the evening that the woman came along to give chin-music through the window. I am bound to say,” added the captain generously, “that no one I can place my hand on saw his lorship loafing about the hotel after dark. But what of that? He may have laid his plans, and arranged for the corpse to be found later, in that blamed packing case.”