“What do you want to see me about?” asked Braddock crossly.
He had been summoned by Cockatoo from the perusal of a new papyrus to see his visitor, and consequently was not in the best of tempers.
“I’ve jes’ blew in fur a trifle of chin-music,” replied Hervey with an emphatic U.S.A. accent.
“I’m busy: get out,” was the uncomplimentary reply.
Hervey took a chair and, stretching his lengthy legs, produced a black cheroot, as long and lean as himself.
“If you were in the States, Professor, I’d draw a bead on you for that style of lingo.
I’m not taking any. See!” and he lighted up. “You’re the captain of ‘The Diver’?”
“That’s so; I was, that is.
Now, I’ve shifted to a dandy wind-jammer of sorts that can run rings round the old barky.
I surmise I’m off for the South Seas, pearl-fishing, in three months.
I’ll take that Kanaka along with me, if y’like, Professor,” and he cast a side glance at Cockatoo, who was squatting on his hams as usual, polishing a blue enameled jar from a Theban tomb.
“I require the services of the man,” said Braddock stiffly. “As to you, sir: you’ve been paid for your business in connection with Bolton’s passage and the shipment of my mummy, so there is no more to be said.”
“Heaps more! heaps, you bet,” remarked the man of the sea placidly, and controlling a temper which in less civilized parts would have led him to wipe the floor with the plump scientist. “My owners were paid fur that racket: not me.
No, sir.
So I’ve paddled into this port to see if I can rake in a few dollars on my own.”
“I’ve no dollars to give you—in charity, that is.”
“Huh!
An’ who asked charity, you bald-headed jelly-bag?”
Braddock grew scarlet with fury.
“If you speak to me like that, you ruffian, I’ll throw you out.”
“What?—you?”
“Yes, me,” and the Professor stood on tip-toe, like the bantam he was.
“You make me smile, and likewise tired,” murmured Hervey, admiring the little man’s pluck. “See here, Professor, touching that mummy?”
“My mummy: my green mummy.
What about it?” Braddock rose to the fly thrown by this skilful angler.
“That’s so.
What will you shell out if I pass along that corpse?”
“Ah!” The Professor again stood on tip-toe, gasping and purple in the face. He almost squeaked in the extremity of his anger. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?” demanded the skipper, genuinely surprised.
“I knew that you had stolen my mummy.
Yes, you needn’t deny it.
Bolton, like the silly fool he was, told you how valuable the mummy was, and you strangled the poor devil to get my property.”
“Go slow,” said the captain, in no wise perturbed by this accusation. “I would have you remember that at the inquest it was stated that the window was locked and the door was open.
How then could I waltz into that blamed hotel and arrange for a funeral?
‘Sides, I guess shooting is mor’n my line than garrotting.
I leave that to the East Coast Yellow-Stomachs.”
Braddock sat down and wiped his face.
He saw plainly enough that he had not a leg to stand on, as Hervey was plainly innocent.
“‘Sides,” went on the skipper, chewing his cheroot, “I guess if I’d wanted that old corpse of yours, I’d have yanked Bolton overside, and set down the accident to bad weather.
Better fur me to loot the case aboard than to make a fool of myself ashore.
No, sir, H.H. don’t run ‘is own perticler private circus in that blamed way.”
“H.H.
Who the devil is H.H.?”
“Me, you bet.
Hiram Hervey, citizen of the U.S.A. Nantucket neighborhood for home life.
And see, don’t you get m’hair riz, or I’ll scalp.”
“You can’t scalp me,” chuckled Braddock, passing his hand over a very bald head. “See here, what do you want?”
“Name a price and I’ll float round to get back your verdant corpse.”
“I thought you were going to the South Seas?”
“In three months, pearl-fishing.