"What are you talking about?" demanded the perplexed scientist.
"About the man who strangled your help and yanked away the corpse."
"But I don't know who he is. Nobody knows."
"Go slow. I do."
"You!" Braddock started and flung himself across the room to seize
Hervey by the lapels of his reefer coat. "You know. Tell me who he is,
so that I can get the emeralds."
"Emeralds!" Hervey removed Braddock's plump hands and stared greedily.
"Don't you know? No, of course you don't. But two emeralds were buried
with the mummy, and they have been stolen."
"Who by?"
"No doubt by the assassin who murdered poor Sidney."
Hervey spat on the floor, and his weather-beaten face took on an
expression of, profound regret.
"I guess I'm a fool of the best."
"Why?" asked Braddock, again puzzled.
"To think," said Hervey, addressing the mummy, "that you were on board
my boat, and I never looted you."
"What!" Braddock stamped. "Would you have committed theft?"
"Theft be hanged!" was the reply. "It ain't thieving to loot the dead.
I guess a corpse hasn't got any use for jewels. You bet I'd have gummed
straightways onto that mummy, when I brought it from Malta in the old
Diver, had I known it was a jeweler's shop of sorts. Huh! Two emeralds,
and I never knew. I could kick myself."
"You are a blackguard," gasped the astonished Professor.
"Oh, shucks!" was the elegant retort, "give it a rest. I'm no worse than
that dandy gentleman who added murder to stealing, anyhow."
"Ah!" Braddock bounded off his chair like an india-rubber ball, "you
said that you knew who had committed the murder."
"Wal," drawled Hervey again, "I do and I don't. That is I suspect, but I
can't swear to the business before a judge."
"Who killed Bolton?" asked the Professor furiously. "Tell me at once."
"Not me, unless it's made worth my while."
"It will be, by Don Pedro."
"That yellow-stomach. What's he got to do with it?"
"I have just told you the mummy belongs to him; he came to Europe to
find it. He wants the emeralds, and intends to offer a reward of one
hundred pounds for the discovery of the assassin."
Hervey arose briskly.
"I'm right on the job," said he, sauntering to the door. "I'll go to
that old inn of yours, where you say the Don's stopping, and look him
up. Guess I'll trade."
"But who killed Bolton?" asked Braddock, running to the door and
gripping Hervey by his coat.
The mariner looked down on the anxious face of the plump little man with
a grim smile.
"I can tell you," said he, "as you can't figure out the business, unless
I'm on the racket. No, sir; I'm the white boy in thin circus."