Priam looked at him. Then, deliberately, he reached for the bottle and refilled his glass.
“Why, Mr. Queen, it all depends,” he said. “If you expect me to admit a lot of guff ― with maybe a stenographer taking it all down from my terrace ― you can save your wind. All right, this man was after me. No idea why, friends, except that he went crazy. On that voyage. Absolutely nuts.
“On the Beagle he went after me and my shipmate with a machete. We were off some dirty island and we jumped overboard, swam to the beach, and hid in the woods. Hurricane blew up that night and swept the Beagle out to sea. We never saw the ship or Adam again. Shipmate and me, we then found a treasure on that island and we finally got it off on a raft we made.
“Reason we laid low and changed our names to Hill and Priam was so Adam could never come back and claim one third of the treasure ― he’d been exploring that island. And maybe he’d still try to kill us even if he didn’t claim a third. That’s my story, friends. Not a crime in a cargo load.” He grinned and tossed off the second glassful. “And I’m sticking to it.”
Keats was regarding him with admiration. “It’s a lousy story, Priam, but if you stick to it we’re stuck with it.”
“Anything else, Mr. Queen...” Priam waved genially. “All you got to do is ask. What’s the point that’s been giving you such a bad time?”
“The letter Adam sent to Leander Hill,” said Ellery.
“The letter―?” Priam stared. “Why in hell would you be worrying about that?”
Ellery took a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket.
“This is a copy of the note Hill found in the silver box on the beagle’s collar,” he said. “It’s been some time and perhaps I’d better refresh your memory by reading it aloud.”