"What was that?" cried Mr. Leversidge, in an agony of impatience. "For Heaven's sake, man, get on quicker with your story. Why don't you come to the point? Can't you see that you are driving me distracted with your shilly-shallying? What was the matter with our man that he caused such a shock to your feelings?"
I paused for a moment, fixed my eyes hard upon him, and then said impressively, "He has been murdered. His throat was cut from ear to ear."
If the matter had not been so terribly serious I should have felt inclined to laugh at the expression upon the old gentleman's face. He was as white as a sheet, his eyes started half out of his head, and his mouth opened and shut like a fish fresh taken from his native element. It was nearly half a minute before he could find sufficient voice to answer me.
"Murdered!" he cried. "My God, what do you mean, Collon? You must be mad to say such a thing. How could he have been murdered? And who could have done it?"
"That he was murdered admits of no doubt," I answered. "There was the proof before me. What is more, for the reason that the victim was preparing to retire to rest, it is plain it must have been done just before the vessel struck."
"But who did it, think you? Did you discover any clue that could tell us that? Not that it matters much, seeing that both murderer and victim are now dead."
"Don't be too sure of that. We know the victim is dead, but of the man who killed him I am not so sure."
"What do you mean?"
In answer I took from the locker beside me the small canvas bag I had worn strapped round my waist when I visited the vessel. I plunged my hand into it and drew out something that I pushed across the table to my friend. He picked it up with a cry of astonishment.
"A razor!" he cried. "But doesn't this look as if the man did away with himself?"