“What have you been doing to your hand?” asked the captain.
“I cut it while I was peeling some potatoes,” was the reply. “It isn’t much of a cut, sir.”
“Well, Jeffreys,” said the captain, “Brown’s body has been picked up and I want particulars for the inquest. You’ll be summoned as a witness, I suppose, so come in and tell us all you know.”
We entered the living-room and seated ourselves at the table. The captain opened a massive pocket-book, while Thorndyke, in his attentive, inquisitive fashion, looked about the odd, cabin-like room as if making a mental inventory of its contents.
Jeffreys’ statement added nothing to what we already knew. He had seen a boat with one man in it making for the lighthouse. Then the fog had drifted up and he had lost sight of the boat. He started the fog-horn and kept a bright look-out, but the boat never arrived. And that was all he knew. He supposed that the man must have missed the lighthouse and been carried away on the ebb-tide, which was running strongly at the time.
“What time was it when you last saw the boat?” Thorndyke asked.
“About half-past eleven,” replied Jeffreys.
“What was the man like?” asked the captain.
“I don’t know, sir; he was rowing, and his back was towards me.”
“Had he any kit-bag or chest with him?” asked Thorndyke.