“But how did you know about the cabin bulkheads?”
“I didn’t. The point was that you did.”
“Well, you staggered me,” Sard said. “I was wondering when you could have been on board.”
“It’s a dam’ easy game, being mysterious, when you’ve anything at all to go on. Your Christian name’s Chisholm, isn’t it? I saw you first on 2nd February, 1883. I remember you coming on board, by the tug, when you were a new chum. The chests were hove in on the port lower deck and the lock of your chest was broken by that old fool Goose-rump letting it drop off the slide.”
“I remember,” Sard said. “You swore at old Goose-rump. You sailed with him later, by the way. What became of old Goose-rump?”
“He went to hell on the Barbary coast.”
“What are you doing?”
“Running rum up to Entre las Montanas.”
“It must be exciting work,” Sard said.
“It’s the finest life on earth. That dam’ terrier is an ambitious swine, but even he can’t spoil it. I count all my life just wasted till I began rousting rum. I’ve been at it seven years.”