"There ain't much more to tell," grumbled the captain. "I heard of this, and I wasn't meant to hear. But I thought I'd go up and see if I could get money out of Krill by saying I'd tell about the murder of Lady Rachel."
"You are a scoundrel," said Hurd, coolly.
"I wos 'ard up," apologized the captain, "or I wouldn't, not me. I'm straight enough when in cash. So I went up in July."
"On the sixth of July?"
"If that was the day of the murder—yes. I went up and loafed round until it wos dark, and then slipped through that side passage at eight o'clock to see Krill."
"How did you know where to find him?"
"Why, that Hay knew about the chap, and said as he did business in a cellar after eight. So Krill let me in, thinking, I 'spose, I wos a customer. He'd been drinking a little and was bold enough. But when I said, as I'd say, he'd killed Lady Rachel, he swore he was an innercent babe, and cried, the drink dyin' out of him."
"The same as it died out of you lately," said Hurd, smiling.
"Go slow," grunted the captain, in a surly tone. "I ain't afraid now, as I ain't done nothing. I said to Krill I'd say nothin' if he'd give me money. He wouldn't, but said he'd placed a lot of pawned things with Pash, and I could have them. He then gave me a paper saying I was to have the things, and I went to Pash the next morning and had trouble. But I heard by chance," again Jessop cast a strange look at Hurd, "that Krill had been murdered, so I didn't wait for the lawyer to come back, but cut down to Southampton and went on a short voyage. Then I come here and you nabbed me," and Jessop finished his rum. "That's all I know."