“No, sir; that cain’t hardly be,” replied the negro after a moment’s consideration. “Some of our crew was in a’ready. The life-savers was there. Couldn’t anyone a-give it to him without the othahs seein’ it.” “So, you see, he must have been dead when he left the ship. Now, Hawkins, you’ll save yourself trouble by telling me what you know of this.” “’Fo’ Heaven, boss, I do’ know a livin’ thing!” And nothing more could Haynes get from the negro. After dismissing him, Haynes said to Colton: “You go around, and under pretence of looking after their injuries, question all the sailors as to whether there was bad blood between the dead man and any of his shipmates. I’ve got some work to do.” At another time the young doctor might have resented the assumption of authority, but now he was too deeply interested in the case. Half an hour later he returned empty of results. “Not a bit of trouble that I can get wind of. What’s that you’re writing, a report for the coroner?” “No; this will never get to the coroner. I’m certain it’s a murder; but I’m equally certain that there’s no case against any individual. I’m writing up the wreck for my paper.” “Are you down here working?” asked Colton. “No, I’m on vacation; but a reporter is always on duty for an emergency like this.” “You’re Harris Haynes of _The New Era_, aren’t you?” asked Colton. “You’re the man that proved the celebrated Bellows suicide and saved Dr. Senderton.” “He saved himself by telling a straight story, even though it seemed damaging, where most men would have tried to lie,” said Haynes. “Anyone except a Central Office detective would have had the sense to know that the letter was written to bear out a grudge. They never should have arrested him.” “I was one of the men called in on the case. You’ve shaved your beard, or I should have remembered you.” “Well, we shan’t have any such satisfactory result in this case,” said the reporter. “Hello! What’s Bruce doing down here?” The life-guard from the Bow Hill station came hurrying to him. “They’ve just got in the life-line, Mr. Haynes,” he said, “and I examined it as you told me. It’s blood-soaked in the middle, and there are blood-stains all along the shoreward half. There’s nothing on the end toward the ship.” “Great Scott!” cried Colton, as the meaning of this poured light into his mind. “Then the poor fellow was killed between the ship and the shore!” “It looks that way,” said Haynes, scowling thoughtfully. “No, by Jove, it can’t be! I’ve missed a trick somewhere. There’s some other explanation.” “Mightn’t the blood-stains have got washed out?” suggested the guard. “Why should half of the rope be clean and not the other half, then?” countered Haynes. “You didn’t make a mistake as to which was the shore end of the buoy rope?” he cried in sudden hopefulness. “Bit o’ spar came in with the clean end,” returned Bruce briefly, and that hope was gone.