"You're the captain of 'The Diver'?"
"That's so; I was, that is. Now, I've shifted to a dandy wind-jammer of
sorts that can run rings round the old barky. I surmise I'm off for the
South Seas, pearl-fishing, in three months. I'll take that Kanaka along
with me, if y'like, Professor," and he cast a side glance at Cockatoo,
who was squatting on his hams as usual, polishing a blue enameled jar
from a Theban tomb.
"I require the services of the man," said Braddock stiffly. "As to you,
sir: you've been paid for your business in connection with Bolton's
passage and the shipment of my mummy, so there is no more to be said."
"Heaps more! heaps, you bet," remarked the man of the sea placidly, and
controlling a temper which in less civilized parts would have led him to
wipe the floor with the plump scientist. "My owners were paid fur that
racket: not me. No, sir. So I've paddled into this port to see if I can
rake in a few dollars on my own."
"I've no dollars to give you--in charity, that is."
"Huh! An' who asked charity, you bald-headed jelly-bag?"
Braddock grew scarlet with fury. "If you speak to me like that, you
ruffian, I'll throw you out."
"What?--you?"
"Yes, me," and the Professor stood on tip-toe, like the bantam he was.
"You make me smile, and likewise tired," murmured Hervey, admiring the
little man's pluck. "See here, Professor, touching that mummy?"
"My mummy: my green mummy. What about it?" Braddock rose to the fly
thrown by this skilful angler.
"That's so. What will you shell out if I pass along that corpse?"
"Ah!" The Professor again stood on tip-toe, gasping and purple in the
face. He almost squeaked in the extremity of his anger. "I knew it."
"Knew what?" demanded the skipper, genuinely surprised.
"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."