“Shucks!” retorted Hervey, rising with a shrug, “if I had wished to get rid of Bolton, I'd have yanked him overboard and then would have written `accident' in my blamed log-book.” Braddock looked at Don Pedro, and Archie at Sir Frank. What the skipper said was plausible enough. No man would have been such a fool as to have murdered Bolton ashore, when he could have done so without suspicion on board the tramp. Moreover, Hervey spoke with genuine regret, since he had missed the emeralds and assuredly would not have hesitated to steal them even at the cost of Bolton's life, had he known of their whereabouts. So far he had made a good defense, and, seeing the impression produced, he strolled to the door. There he halted. “If you gents want to lynch me,” he said leisurely, “I'll be found at the Sailor's Rest for the next week. Then I'm going as skipper of The Firefly steamer, Port o' London, to Algiers. You can send the sheriff along whenever you choose. But I mean to have my picnic first, and to-morrow I'm going to Inspector Date with my yarn. Then I guess that almighty aristocrat wilt find himself in quod.” “Wait a moment,” cried Braddock, running to the door. “Let me talk to you and arrange what is best to be done. If you will--” He proceeded no further, for without vouchsafing him a reply, Hervey, now quite master of the situation, passed through the door, and the Professor hastily followed him. Those who remained looked at one another, scarcely knowing what to say, or how to act. “They will arrest thee, my angel,” cried Donna Inez, clasping Random's arm. “Let them,” retorted the young man defiantly. “They can prove nothing. With all my heart and soul I believe Hervey to be the guilty person. Hope, what do you say?--and you, Miss Kendal?” “Hervey has certainly made an excellent defense,” said Archie cautiously. “He wouldn't have been such a fool as to murder Bolton ashore when he could have done it so easily when on the narrow seas.” “I agree with you there,” said Random quickly. “But if he is innocent; if he did not bring the manuscript into my room, who did?” “I wonder if Widow Anne herself is guilty?” said Lucy in a musing tone. All present turned and looked at the girl. “Who is Widow Anne?” asked Don Pedro with a puzzled air. “She is the mother of Sidney Bolton, the man who was murdered,” said Hope quickly. “My dear Lucy, why do you say that?” Lucy paused before replying and then answered the question by asking another one. “Did you ask Sidney to get you some clothes from his mother to clothe a model?” “Never in my life,” said Hope promptly, and, as Lucy, saw, truly. “Well, I accidentally met Mrs. Bolton to-day, and she insisted that her son had borrowed from her a dark shawl and a dark dress for you.” “That is not true,” said Hope hotly. “Why should the woman tell such a lie?”