The New Orleans heat smote upon the chart-house roof, and the air outside clattered with the talk of negroes. Already hatches were off, and the winch chains sang as they struck out cargo, and from the levee alongside, and from New Orleans below and beyond, came tangles of smells which are peculiarly their own. A steward brought in tea, and it stood on the chart-table untasted, and at last Kettle finished, and Lupton put a question. "It's easy to tell," he said, "if they did swap names. What was the man that went overboard like?" "Little dark fellow, short sighted. He was a poet, too." "That's not Hamilton, anyway, but it might be Cranze. Is your prisoner tall?" "Tall and puffy. Red-haired and a spotty face." "That's Hamilton, all the way. By Jove! Skipper, we've saved our bacon. His yarn's quite true. They did change names. Hamilton's a rich young ass that's been painting England red these last three years." "But, tell me, what did the little chap go overboard for?" "Got there himself. Uneasy conscience, I suppose. He seems to have been a poor sort of assassin anyway. Why, when that drunken fool tumbled overboard amongst the sharks, he didn't leave him to be eaten or drowned, is more than I can understand. He'd have got his money as easy as picking it up off the floor, if he'd only had the sense to keep quiet." "If you ask me," said Kettle, "it was sheer nobility of character. I had a good deal of talk with that young gentleman, sir. He was a splendid fellow. He had a true poetical soul." Mr. Lupton winked sceptically. "He managed to play the part of a thorough-paced young blackguard at home pretty successfully. He was warned off the turf. He was kicked out of his club for card-sharping. He was--well, he's dead now, anyway, and we won't say any more about him, except that he's been stone-broke these last three years, and has been living on his wits and helping to fleece other flats. But he was only the tool, anyway. There is a bigger and more capable scoundrel at the back of it all, and, thanks to the scare you seem to have rubbed into that spotty-faced young mug you've got locked up down below, I think we can get the principal by the heels very nicely this journey. If you don't mind, I'll go and see this latest victim now, before he's had time to get rid of his fright." Captain Kettle showed his visitor courteously down to the temporary jail, and then returned to the chart-house and sipped his tea.