“Did you know him well?”
“Well's I wanted to. Pretty decent feller one time, but a fast goer, and went downhill like a young one's sled, when he got started. His folks had money, that was the trouble with him. Why, 'course I knew him! He married—”
“I know. Now, listen.”
Ellery went on talking rapidly and with great earnestness. Ebenezer listened, at first silently, then breaking in with ejaculations and grunts of astonishment. He sat up on the edge of the bed.
“Rubbish!” he cried at last, “why, 'tain't possible! The feller's dead as Methusalem's grandmarm. I remember how it happened and—”
“It wasn't true. That much I know. I KNOW, I tell you.”
He went on to explain why he knew. Capen's astonishment grew.
“Judas priest!” he exclaimed again. “That would explain why I thought I'd seen—There! heave ahead. I've got to see. But it's a mistake. I don't believe it.”
The pair entered the sick room. The sailor lay in a stupor. His breathing was rapid, but faint. Capen bent over him and gently moved the bandage on his face. For a full minute he gazed steadily. Then he stood erect, drew a big red hand across his forehead, and moved slowly back to the living room.
“Well?” asked Ellery eagerly.