"Know him? Not me!" asserted Boatswain Joe virtuously. "Did you give him to the police?"
Dennis laughed grimly. "Worse than that. Well, do you know of anyone who might have followed you from Vancouver here? Have you any enemies?"
From Ericksen broke a sudden exclamation. "Strike me blind! If you ain't hit it right on the head, you have! Somebody has smoked out the Skipper's game; that's what!"
"And what's the game?" snapped Dennis. At this the sailor wagged his head.
"Can't tell that. 'Mind your jaw-tackle, Boatswain,' says the Skipper. It's got to do with Miss Hathaway—I mean Mrs. Dennis—and her father. It ain't for me to say. But there's money in it, and somebody's smoked it out—strike me blind if they ain't!"
"Then why should that fellow have tackled me, instead of you?"
Again Ericksen wagged his head. "Can't tell you that! Didn't you make the blighter talk?"
"He was in no condition to talk when I got through with him," returned Dennis, and the sailor sighed—perhaps with relief.
Glancing about, Dennis saw only one article of luggage in the compartment—a small square suitcase, obviously new, and very well made. It lacked any mark of identification. Beyond doubt it belonged to the assassin.
"That was here when you dropped in for a smoke?" demanded Dennis, pointing at it.