"Is that foul play or accident, Captain Barclay?" asked my second mate,
demurely.
"You are quite right, Mr. Allardyce. The man has been murdered--struck
down from above by a sharp and heavy weapon. But who was he, and why
did they murder him?"
"He was a common seaman, sir," said the mate. "You can see that if you
look at his fingers." He turned out his pockets as he spoke and brought
to light a pack of cards, some tarred string, and a bundle of Brazilian
tobacco.
"Hello, look at this!" said he.
It was a large, open knife with a stiff spring blade which he had picked
up from the floor. The steel was shining and bright, so that we could
not associate it with the crime, and yet the dead man had apparently
held it in his hand when he was struck down, for it still lay within his
grasp.
"It looks to me, sir, as if he knew he was in danger and kept his knife
handy," said the mate. "However, we can't help the poor beggar now.
I can't make out these things that are lashed to the wall. They seem
to be idols and weapons and curios of all sorts done up in old sacking."
"That's right," said I. "They are the only things of value that we are
likely to get from the cargo. Hail the barque and tell them to send the
other quarter-boat to help us to get the stuff aboard.
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