"And I say," exclaimed Harcourt with sudden harshness, "that no man is to be murdered in my ship without someone swinging for it, by the Lord Harry! We'll get into Kilindini, and never a man goes ashore until this has been ferreted out. John Solomon, and you, Adolf Jenson, mind that!"
So the matter ended for the present, after affidavits and statements had been drawn up and signed by all concerned. But, as he paced the bridge that night, Cyrus Hammer thrashed the matter over and over in his mind. The strands were twisted a little bit too much to his manner of thinking.
Solomon's absence in his own cabin was bad, for there was nothing to prove that he had been there, save his own word. This, however, was balanced by the fact that the knife seemed to belong to Jenson, whose flat denial of this evidence looked very bad also. Yet his alibi was unimpeachable.
What with Baumgardner testifying against Solomon, and the latter against Jenson, the thing was badly tangled. Yet the evidence was in favour of the secretary clearly. He would hardly have stolen the paper from Krausz, over which the struggle would seem to have been waged, and he could account for his movements.
Despite the ownership of the knife, there would seem to be a much better case against John Solomon, except for the testimony of the Arab—and at this the American paused. What had the supercargo said there at the door of the chart-house?
For a long moment Hammer stood staring out at the sea, startled by this thought which had winged its way into his brain. Was it possible that in that moment Solomon had given the Arab his cue?
But why? He had not desired to testify against Jenson at first, beyond doubt. Hammer's mind flashed back again—Jenson also had left the chart-house shortly before Baumgardner's recognition of the blade.
Was it possible that Jenson had instructed the boatswain what to say, that Solomon had read his purpose and blocked the move by the counter testimony of his Arab?
"By Godfrey," thought the American, "that's expecting too much altogether of Solomon's wits. Besides, Baumgardner doesn't look as if he'd lie in order to save that little shrimp of a secretary. Well, I guess it's up to the authorities at Mombasa, and here's hoping they can find more sense in the whole affair than I can."
With which he patted the side-pocket of his coat reassuringly and devoted himself to keeping a sharper lookout than usual.