“I think so too. But I think some strange thing has terrified him. Perhaps one of the sails tore loose and blew on him. Or it may have been the lightning.”
“That might be it, and in his panic he may have struck out and killed Petersen by accident. But in that case, why should the other sailors, who must have seen it, shield him? I guess the best thing is to put it to him straight, concluded Haynes.
Followed by Colton, he went into the room where the suspect lay.
“See here!” began Haynes abruptly. “We want to know why you killed Petersen the sailor.”
The stranger’s dark eyes widened. He stared at his questioner with dropped jaw.
“Yes; why you killed him—with this.” Haynes touched the hilt of one of the knives that protruded from the man’s belt.
“No, no!” protested the man. “I not got nothing against Petersen. I not know Petersen.”
“You were on board when he left?”
“Yes; I see zem go—one—two—three—so many—seven. Not me; I haf to stay. No one care to safe ze wonderful Whalley.”
“Did you see anyone fight with Petersen or strike him?” asked Colton.