“Drowned?” cried the man in a heat of contempt. “And how about that gash in the back of his neck? It’s his day on patrol from the Sand Spit station, and this is where the Bow Hill and Sand Spit lines meet. Three hours ago I saw him on the cliff yonder. Since then he’s come and gone betwixt here and his station. And——” he gulped suddenly and turned upon the others so sharply that the professor jumped—“what’s he met with?”
“Perhaps the surf dashing him on a rock made the wound,” suggested Haynes.
“No, sir!” declared the guard with emphasis. “The tide ain’t this high in a month. It’s murder, that’s what it is—bloody murder!” and he bent over the dead man with twitching shoulders.
“He’s right,” said Colton, who had been examining the corpse hastily. “This is no drowning case, The man was stabbed and died instantly.”
“Was the unfortunate a friend of yours?” asked Professor Ravenden benevolently of the coastguard.
“No, nor of nobody’s, was Paul Serdholm. No later than yesterday he picked a fight with me, and——” he broke off and looked blankly at the three men.
“How long would you say he had been dead?” asked Haynes of Colton.
“A very few minutes.”
“Then we may catch the murderer!” cried the reporter energetically. “Professor Ravenden, I know I can count on you. Colton, will you take orders?”
“You’re the captain,” was the quiet reply.