But the Professor was not going to let Captain Hervey escape without giving him full information.  Before the Yankee skipper could reach the front door, Braddock was at his heels, gasping and blowing like a grampus.

“Come back, come back.  Tell me all.”

“I reckon not,” rejoined the mariner, removing Braddock’s grip.  “You ain’t the one to give the money.  I’ll go to the Don, or to Inspector Date of Pierside.”

“But Sir Frank must be innocent,” insisted Braddock.

“He’s got to prove it,” was the dry response.  “Let me go.”

“No.  You must tell me on what grounds—­”

“Oh, the devil take you!” said Hervey hastily, and sat down on one of the hall chairs.  “It’s this way, since you won’t let me skip until I tell you.  This almighty aristocrat came to Pierside on the same afternoon as I cast anchor.  While Bolton was on board, he looked in to have a yarn of sorts.”

“What about?”

“Now, how in creation should I know?” snapped the skipper.  “I wasn’t on hand, as I’d enough to do with unloading cargo.  But his lordship went with Bolton to the state-room, and they talked for half an hour.  When they came out, I saw that his lordship had his hair riz, and heard him saying things to Bolton.”

“What sort of things?”

“Well, for one, he said, `You’ll repent of this,’ and then again, `Your life isn’t safe while you keep it.’”

“Meaning the mummy?”

“I reckon that’s so, unless I am mistaken,” said Hervey serenely.

“Why didn’t you go to the police with this information?”

“Me?  Not much.  Why, I saw no way of making dollars.  And then, again, I did not think of putting things together, until I found that his lorship—­”

“Meaning Sir Frank,” interpolated the Professor, frowning.

“I’m talking Queen’s, or King’s, or Republican lingo, I guess, and I do mean his lorship,” said the skipper dryly—­“until I found that his lorship had been in the public-house where the crime was committed.”

“The Sailor’s Rest?  When did he go there?”

“In the evening.  After his talk with Bolton, and after a row—­ as they both seemed to have their hair off—­he skipped over the side and went back to his yacht, which wasn’t far away.  Bolton took his blamed mummy ashore and got fixed at the Sailor’s Rest.  I gathered afterwards, from the second mate of The Diver (which ain’t my ship now), that his lorship came into the hotel and had a drink.  Afterwards my second mate saw him talking to Bolton through the window.”

“In the same place as the woman talked?” questioned the Professor.

“That’s so, only it was later in the evening that the woman came along to give chin-music through the window.  I am bound to say,” added the captain generously, “that no one I can place my hand on saw his lorship loafing about the hotel after dark.  But what of that?  He may have laid his plans, and arranged for the corpse to be found later, in that blamed packing case.”