"What made you so plumb sure he would come here?"
"I've heard how he was set on his daughter, and a sick man like a sick animal runs for his home."
"His home?"
"By home, I mean family. He came of a swell lot according to himself; but those fellows always like to strut. I guess he was a Westerner."
"I guess so. Look here, I'll tell you how he died. His pig-iron will kept him up till he got here; when he heard you were coming it nearly finished him. But he was a cool one. He managed to get on the yacht; then he told me the doctors said, if he had an attack like the one he'd just had, he could only last a few hours after it. When all was over he would get Miss Gastonguay to chuck him in the sea. I was to stay and keep you at bay. He held on till they got abreast of Dove Harbour, then,—well, I don't know what happened. Miss Gastonguay was alone with him. She's a good lot,—I knew she'd bring him back to bury him."
"That she is," said the detective, cheerfully. "You needn't bother with any more explanations. So long," and he stepped ahead in order to give his companion a chance with the chief of police.
"Chief," said Captain White, diplomatically, "you can't explain everything on this globe, can you?"
"I guess not."
"If a rich old lady chooses to bury nobody knows who in her cemetery, it's just as well to have nothing said?"
"I'll agree to that."