“Tell all you may know which could throw any possible light on this dreadful affair, that the guilty may be brought to justice and the dead avenged,” said Meeker.

“Steady as she goes!” warned Captain Riggs. turning in his chair and holding up his hand.  “I’ll ask the questions, if you please, Mr. Meeker.  Now, then, my man, where have you been in the last hour?”

“For’ard, turned in, sir,” replied Buckrow, keeping his eyes on the flame of the lamp.

“See this dead man here?”

“Aye, sir.”

“No, you don’t—­look at him!  Did you have a hand in this?”

“No, sir.”  He took a quick glance at the dead man and fastened his eyes on the lamp again.

“Know who killed him?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s all for now.”

Harris led forward the tall cockney I had seen at the wheel.  He said his name was Crannish, and he spelled it for the captain, who examined the crew list to verify him.  He said that he was known as “Long Jim” by his mates.  He did not seem to take the murder as a serious matter, but answered Captain Riggs’s questions calmly, his eyes roving over the interior of the saloon, taking us all in very coolly.

There was a gleam of amusement in his eyes as he looked at Meeker, as if he thought it a joke that the missionary should be sitting on an inquiry board.  Meeker returned his gaze in a disinterested manner, swaying in his chair with the motion of the ship, and fumbling his shell crucifix, as if it was a talisman to guard him against danger.

Crannish was dismissed, and the next was Petrak.  He impudently winked at me as he stepped into the light, and hitched up his trousers in a nonchalant manner that was amusing.  He had his shoes in his hand, and he had evidently dressed in a hurry to obey the summons of the mate.

“Petrak’s my name, sir, and they make a joke on my head by making me out ‘Dago Red,’ sir.  Been bos’n in—­”

“He was relieved at eight bells, sir; has the wheel in the Dutchman’s watch,” explained Harris.

“Where did you go then?” demanded the captain.

“Turned right in, sir, after a bit of a wash.”

“Where were you at one bell?” put in Harris, giving the captain a significant look.

“For’ard in my bunk, sir.”

“You lie,” drawled Harris coldly.  “Ye passed the galley ports a minute or so after one bell was struck.  I saw ye.”

“Not me, sir; never anything like that, sir, beggin’ ye’re pardon.”

“Yes, ye did, and don’t ye lie to me,” retorted Harris.  “Ye didn’t go right for’ard when ye come off watch.  I heard ye yarnin’ with Buckrow, or what’s his name, just after ye passed the galley.  Yer phiz showed plain to me as Cape Cod Light on a clear night.”

“Where’s your knife?” said Riggs suddenly, leaning forward and peering at his belt.

“Left it in my bunk, sir.  Top one, first to port as ye go down—­right at the head it is, sir, in some straw.”