"I knew that you had stolen my mummy. Yes, you needn't deny it.
Bolton, like the silly fool he was, told you how valuable the
mummy was, and you strangled the poor devil to get my property."

"Go slow," said the captain, in no wise perturbed by this
accusation. "I would have you remember that at the inquest it
was stated that the window was locked and the door was open. How
then could I waltz into that blamed hotel and arrange for a
funeral? 'Sides, I guess shooting is mor'n my line than
garrotting. I leave that to the East Coast Yellow-Stomachs."

Braddock sat down and wiped his face. He saw plainly enough that
he had not a leg to stand on, as Hervey was plainly innocent.

"'Sides," went on the skipper, chewing his cheroot, "I guess if
I'd wanted that old corpse of yours, I'd have yanked Bolton
overside, and set down the accident to bad weather. Better fur
me to loot the case aboard than to make a fool of myself ashore.
No, sir, H.H. don't run 'is own perticler private circus in that
blamed way."

"H.H. Who the devil is H.H.?"

"Me, you bet. Hiram Hervey, citizen of the U.S.A. Nantucket
neighborhood for home life. And see, don't you get m'hair riz,
or I'll scalp."

"You can't scalp me," chuckled Braddock, passing his hand over a
very bald head. "See here, what do you want?"