Captain Jarvey Jessop quite answered to the description given by Pash. He was large and sailor-like, with red hair mixed with grey and a red beard that scarcely concealed the scar running from temple to mouth. He had drunk enough to make him cheerful and was quite willing to fall into conversation with Hurd, who explained himself unnecessarily. "I'm a commercial gent," said the detective, calling for two rums, plain, "and I like talking."
"Me, too," growled the sailor, grasping his glass. "I'm here on what you'd call a visit, but I go back to my home to-morrow. Then it's ho for Callao," he shouted in a sing-song voice.
Hurd knew the fierce old chanty and sized Captain Jarvey up at once. He was of the buccaneer type, and there was little he would not do to make money and have a roaring time. Failing Hokar, with his deadly handkerchief, here was the man who might have killed Aaron Norman. "Drink up," shouted Hurd in his turn, "we'll have some more.
"On no condition, is extradition,
Allowed in Callao."
"Gum," said Captain Jessop, "you know the chanty."
Hurd winked. "I've bin round about in my time."
Jessop stretched out a huge hand. "Put it there, mate," said he, with a roar like a fog-horn, "and drink up along o' me. My treat."
Hurd nodded and became jovial. "On condition you join me at dinner. They make good curries here."
"I've had curry," said Captain Jessop, heavily, "in Colombo and Hong-Kong frequent, but Hokar's curries are the best."
"Ah!" said Hurd in a friendly curious way, "so you know this shanty?"