“No; see nothing.”
After fifteen minutes of fruitless cross-questioning the investigators called in the negro, Hawkins.
“Him kill Petersen?” repeated Hawkins. “No—sir—ee, boss! He wasn’t nowheyah nigh when Petersen went off, safe an’ wavin’ his hand goodbye.”
“Someone killed him,” said Haynes. “This man, yourself, Corliss and the captain and mate were the only ones aboard.”
“That’s right, boss. Corliss and the Old Man and I stood right by and saw him off. No, sir, if he wa’n’t killed by the lightnin’ or on the cliff, somethin’ got him on the way in.”
“You think he may have met his death after he landed, then?”
“No, sir; that cain’t hardly be,” replied the negro after a moment’s consideration. “Some of our crew was in a’ready. The life-savers was there. Couldn’t anyone a-give it to him without the othahs seein’ it.”
“So, you see, he must have been dead when he left the ship. Now, Hawkins, you’ll save yourself trouble by telling me what you know of this.”
“’Fo’ Heaven, boss, I do’ know a livin’ thing!” And nothing more could Haynes get from the negro. After dismissing him, Haynes said to Colton:
“You go around, and under pretence of looking after their injuries, question all the sailors as to whether there was bad blood between the dead man and any of his shipmates. I’ve got some work to do.”