"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.
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