The Mystery of the Green Ray Part 21

"Yes, a fair amount," our host replied. "I pretty well live on board, you know, although I have a small house further north, on Loch Duich, if you know where that is."

"Mr. Ewart was born up here, and knows it backwards," Hilderman informed him. And we chatted about the district and the fis.h.i.+ng and the views until the steward returned, and we got under weigh. I should have liked to have seen the accommodation below, but the journey was a short one, and I had no opportunity to make the suggestion. Dennis was sitting nearest the rail, and there was a small hank of rope at his feet.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Burnham," said Fuller suddenly. "I didn't notice that rope was in your way." And he learned over and tossed the rope away. As he did so some hard object fell with a clatter from the coil.

"It's not interfering with me in the least," laughed Dennis, and looked down at a large, bone-handled clasp-knife which had dropped in front of him. He picked it up idly, and weighed it in his hand.

"Useful sort of implement," he said.

"Oh, these sailor-chaps like a big knife more than anything," said Hilderman; "and, of course, they need them strong. I daresay that has been used for anything, from primitive carpentry to cutting tobacco.

The one knife always does for everything."

We continued our conversation while Dennis idly examined the knife, opening it and studying the blade absently. Presently Fuller, noticing his absorption, began to chaff him about it.

"Well," he laughed, "have you compiled a complete history of the knife and it's owner? If you're ready to sit an examination on the subject I will const.i.tute myself examiner, then we'll find who the knife belongs to, and corroborate or contradict your conclusions."

"It's a very ordinary knife to find on board a boat, I should think,"

said Dennis.

"Oh come, Mr. Burnham," Hilderman joined in, "you mustn't wriggle out of it. Surely you can answer Mr. Fuller's questions."

"If Mr. Fuller will allow me to put one or two preliminary questions to him," Dennis replied, entering into the spirit of fun, "I am ready to go into the witness-box and swear quite a number of fanciful things."

"Come now, Fuller," chaffed Hilderman. "You must give him a run for his money, you know. He is risking his reputation at a moment's notice. I think you ought to let him ask you three questions, at any rate."

"Fire away, Mr. Burnham," said our host. "I'll give you a start of three questions, and then you must be prepared to answer every reasonable question I put to you, or be branded publicly as an unreliable witness and an incompetent detective."

Dennis puffed at his pipe and smiled, and I was surprised to see that he really was bringing his mind to bear on the trivial problem with all the acuteness he had in him.

"Well, in the first place," he asked, "do you stop in port very often overnight, or for any length of time during the day?"

"I never stop in port longer than I can help," laughed Fuller, "or the owner of that knife would probably take the opportunity of buying a new one, and throwing this old thing away. All the same, I don't see how that is going to help you."

"Ah," said Dennis, in bantering vein, "you mustn't expect me to give away my process, you know. The secret's been in the family for years."

"What's your second question, Den?" I asked.

"Is there a hotel within reasonable distance of your house on Loch Whatever-it-is, Mr. Fuller?"

"Loch Duich?" our host replied. "There's one about six miles by road and eleven or twelve by the sea."

"I don't think I need ask you the third question, then," said Dennis.

"You can begin your examination now."

"Now, Mr. Burnham," Fuller commenced, "you quite understand that anything you say will be taken down in writing, and may be used as evidence against you?"

"I a.s.sure you I have a keen appreciation of the gravity of the situation," Dennis replied seriously.

"Well," said Fuller, "I'll begin with an easy one--one that won't tax your powers of observation beyond endurance."

"Yes," I urged, "let him down gently. He does his best."

"What profession does the owner of that knife follow?"

Hilderman and I laughed.

"We may as well count that answer as read," he said.

"There's a catch there, Dennis," I warned him. "The legal designation is 'mariner.'"

"I don't think it is," said my friend.

"We won't quarrel about terms," laughed our host graciously. "Sailor or seaman or deckhand will do just as well."

"No," said Dennis, "it won't. The owner of this knife is not a sailor by profession."

"But," Fuller protested, "it must belong to one of my crew, and it is obviously a seaman's knife."

"In that case," Dennis answered, "I think you'll find that you have a man on board who is not a professional seaman in the ordinary use of the term. I'll tell you what I think of this knife, shall I?"

"By all means," urged Hilderman and his friend together, and I began to take a keen interest in this curious discussion, for I could see that Dennis was no longer playing. He turned the knife over in his hand, and looked up at Fuller.

"Mr. Fuller," he said quietly, "the owner of this knife is not a sailor by profession. He is probably a schoolmaster. I can't be sure of that, but I can say this definitely: he is a professional man of some sort, possibly an engineer, but, as I say, more probably a mathematical master. He is left-handed, has red hair, a wife, and at least one child."

I shouted with laughter when I realised how thoroughly my friend had pulled my leg, but I broke off abruptly when Hilderman sat bolt upright, and his chair and Fuller's cigar fell unheeded on to the deck. But in a second they took their cue from me, and roared with laughter.

"Oh, excellent, Mr. Burnham," said Hilderman between his guffaws. "But you forgot to mention that his sister married a butcher's a.s.sistant."

"Ah, but I don't admit she did," Dennis protested.

"I'm very much indebted to you for exposing this masquerader," said Fuller. "I shall have the matter inquired into. But seriously, Mr.

Burnham, you made one extraordinary fluke in your deductions, which almost took my breath away. I have a man on board with red hair, and when the boat came into the harbour he was working about here. I saw him leave his work to come ash.o.r.e for us. I shouldn't be at all surprised to find that the knife belonged to him."

"Oh, well," Dennis laughed, "one shot right is not a bad average for a beginner, you know."

"No," said Hilderman, puffing a cloud of smoke, and dreamily following its ascent with his eyes, "not bad at all. Not bad at all."

And then, the joke of the clasp-knife being played out, we admired the scenery, and conversed of less speculative subjects till we arrived at Glasnabinnie.

We were pulled ash.o.r.e by the man with the red hair, and when our host confronted him with the knife he promptly claimed it.

"I think you won, Mr. Burnham," laughed Fuller, and Dennis smiled in reply. We slid alongside the landing-stage and stepped out, and Dennis's schoolmaster was about to slip the painter through a ring and make the boat fast. But evidently the ring was broken. The man came ash.o.r.e, and Hilderman began to lead us up the path. But Dennis deliberately turned and watched the sailor. Hilderman and his companion strolled ahead while I stood beside Dennis. The man with the red hair fished among a pile of wire rope, and picked out a small marline-spike. Then he lifted a large stone, held the marline-spike on the wooden planking of the landing-stage, and hammered it in with the stone. Then he threw the painter round it, and made the boat secure in that way.

"Yes," murmured Dennis quietly, as we turned to join the others, "I think I won."

For the man had held the stone in his left hand.