“What for?” demanded her father benignly.
Lucy turned.
“This thing can't go on,” she declared resolutely. “Mrs. Jasher was accused by you, father—”
“Only in a heated moment,” cried the Professor, excusing himself.
“Never mind, she was accused,” retorted Lucy stubbornly, “and now this sailor accuses Sir Frank. Who knows who will be charged next with committing the crime? I shall ask Archie to take the matter up, and hunt down the real criminal. Until the guilty person is found, I foresee that we shall never have a moment's peace.”
“I quite agree with you,” said Mrs. Jasher earnestly. “For my own sake I wish the matter of this mystery to be cleared up. Why don't you help me?” she added, turning to Braddock, who listened placidly.
“I am helping,” said Braddock quietly. “I intend to set Cockatoo on the trail at once. He shall take up his abode in the Sailor's Rest on some pretext, and no doubt will be able to find a clue.”
“What?” cried the widow incredulously, “a savage like that?”
“Cockatoo is much cleverer than the average white man,” said Braddock dryly, “especially in following a trail. He, if any one, will learn the truth. I would much rather trust the Kanaka than young Hope.”
“Nonsense!” cried Lucy, standing up for her lover. “Archie is the one to discover the assassin. I'll see him at once. And you, father?”