"I sha'n't go immediately to your crib," rejoined Hurd, dryly, "though I may do so later. My first visit will be to that old pawnbroker. I think if I describe you—and you are rather a noticeable man, Captain Jessop—he will recognize the individual who pawned an opal serpent brooch with him shortly after the death of Lady Rachel Sandal, to whom the said brooch belonged."
"It's a lie," said Jessop hoarsely, and sober enough now.
"Quite so, and perhaps it is also a lie that a man resembling yourself tried to get certain jewellery from a lawyer called Pash—"
Jessop lost his self-control, which he was trying desperately to preserve, and rose to his feet, white-faced and haggard. "Who are you?" he shouted, "who are you?"
"Doesn't the warrant tell you," replied his companion, not at all upset. "My name is Billy Hurd. I am the detective in charge of the Norman murder case. And I've been looking for you for a long time, Mr. Jessop."
"I know nothing about it."
"Yes, you do; so sit down and talk away."
"I'll break your head," cried the captain, swinging his huge fists.
"Try," Hurd whipped out his revolver, but did not rise, "at the risk of getting a bullet through you. Pshaw, man, don't be a fool. I'm making things as easy for you as possible. Create a disturbance, and I'll hand you over to the police. A night in the village lock-up may cool your blood. Sit down I tell you."
The sailor showed his teeth like those of a snarling dog and made as to strike the seated detective; but suddenly changing his mind, for he saw well enough in what danger he stood, he dropped into his chair, and, covering his face with his hands, groaned aloud. Hurd put away his revolver. "That's better," said he, pleasantly; "take a tot of rum and tell me all you know."