“Never left me,” said Pinkerton, producing the paper.
I turned to the account of the wreck. “Here,” said I; “here's the name. 'Elias Goddedaal, mate.' Why do we never come across Elias Goddedaal?”
“That's so,” said Jim. “Was he with the rest in that saloon when you saw them?”
“I don't believe it,” said I. “They were only four, and there was none that behaved like a mate.”
At this moment the clerk returned with his report.
“The captain,” it appeared, “came with some kind of an express waggon, and he and the man took off three chests and a big satchel. Our porter helped to put them on, but they drove the cart themselves. The porter thinks they went down town. It was about one.”
“Still in time for the City of Pekin,” observed Jim.
“How many of them were here?” I inquired.
“Three, sir, and the Kanaka,” replied the clerk. “I can't somehow fin out about the third, but he's gone too.”
“Mr. Goddedaal, the mate, wasn't here then?” I asked.