"And who was the murdered man?" asked one.
"A stranger."
"And the murderer?"
"A stranger, too; a mere boy, they say."
"Oh! that explains matters," added a grave personage; "but if strangers will murder each other, why do they not stay at home and slaughter themselves?"
Such were the snatches of conversation Uros and the captain heard on alighting at Porta Pilla; and as they asked their way to the police station, everybody stared at them, and felt sure that in some way or other they were connected with the murder.
At the police station, the captain stated how his mate had disappeared from on board, and asked permission to see the murdered man. They were forthwith led to the mortuary-chapel, and they were glad to see that the corpse was a perfect stranger.
"What kind of a person is the young man you are looking for?" asked the guard who had accompanied them.
"Rather above the middle height, slim but muscular, with greyish-blue eyes, a straight nose, a square chin, curly hair, and a small dark moustache."
"And dressed like a sailor?"