"They have got the fellow who stabbed the man in the Flagship Bar?"
"Slick as a whistle, some two hours back. One of his mates, he was, that did the cuttin'—lampman out of this wessel. Take your luggage."
"Take it along, then, and see that you don't drop it," I told him, convinced that the little villain could have had no hand in the murder, even if he had been on the scene.
He shouldered my bag and went up the gangway and I followed him closely. I looked in at the door of the saloon where I saw the old captain seated at the table, with a litter of papers about him, arguing with a tall rawboned New Englander, whom I knew to be the mate. He was complaining about something.
"I say we ain't goin' to git out to-night, Cap'n Riggs," he said. "The bo'sun has went and got hisself stabbed and four of the white hands are missin', and we ain't got nobody to work ship but the chinks."
"We've got to have a crew, Mr. Harris, and that's all there is to it," said Captain Riggs. "You say the Greek got cut?"
"Dead as a door-nail, cap'n. Went out for lamp-wicks and got hisself slit open in a gin-mill, the fool! We're turrible short-handed, cap'n."
"Who cut him?"
"Hanged if I know. The police say the lampman, but the lampman didn't leave the ship until after the bo'sun was done for, near as I can make it out. But the police have the lampman locked up for it, and I'm too busy to bother my head. First we know they'll want all the crew for witnesses. There's some monkey-business goin' on, too."
"Now, what do you mean?" demanded the captain, losing patience.