"Does anybody know who he is?" demanded a khaki-clad policeman, taking
out a note-book.

"A sailor," said an American in a white apron, who leaned out of the
door. "Drank whiskey and vermouth and talked like a squarehead."

"Greek he was," said a man with the appearance of a mariner.

"Here's his cap in here," said the bartender, and he turned and picked up
a watch-cap, and held it so we could see letters wrought in it with gilt
cord, and I made out "Kut Sang," which excited my interest in the case.

"Boatswain he was in the _Kut Sang_, bound out to-day for Hong-Kong,"
said the mariner.

"Jolly long road to Hong-Kong for him now," said another.

"Who cut him?" demanded the policeman. "Didn't you see how this happened?
Are you all deaf and dumb? You, there in the apron! Who did this?"

"You can search me," said the bartender. "He had a couple of drinks and
was going out when somebody slipped a knife in him. I was at the other
end of the bar--never saw a thing until this one here lets out a yell and
goes down. Somebody cut and run through the door."

"I see him! I see him!" cried a boy in kilts who had a hoop, and we all
turned, expecting the murderer to be pointed out to us; but the boy meant
that he had seen the man running away and all that he knew was that he
had worn a "funny hat," and he could tell nothing else.