did. If poor Schlak wass killed after then thiss must surely absolve

Jenson."

"It would certainly seem to, by Jove!" exclaimed Harcourt, frankly puzzled. "Mr. Solomon, kindly explain to us why you denied all knowledge of the knife when we first asked you about it. Do you stick to that denial?"

"No, sir," and the wide blue eyes, which had rested on Jenson with a wondering look, shifted to Harcourt. "You see, sir, I don't carry weapons, not as a rule. Everything in its place, I says, and a supercargo 'e don't rightly 'ave no use for knives. When so be as I wants a knife I gets one from the steward, or borries one anywhere. It may be werry well be as the bos'n says----"

"Then why did you deny it in the first place?" shot out Harcourt sternly.

Solomon hesitated, his eyes shifting from face to face appealingly.

"Well, sir, I suspicioned as summat was wrong. I don't 'old to gettin' shipmates into 'ot water, sir, beggin' your pardon, and I says to myself, 'John Solomon, tell a lie,' just like that, sir. 'Tell a lie,' I says, 'and don't be a-gettin' of a poor shipmate into 'ot water. Do as you would be done by,' I says----"

"Confound it," exclaimed Harcourt, "tell me who you borrowed that knife from or I'll put you in irons!"

"Well, sir," sighed the supercargo, "I must say as I remembers it werry well, and werry sorry I am to 'ave to say it, Mr. Jenson; but you----"

"You lie!" screamed Jenson terribly, flinging himself forward. With unexpected agility Dr. Krausz leaped up and gripped him. "You lie! You lie! You lie!" Over and over the words were shrieked out until a torrent of German from the scientist quieted the livid-faced secretary.

It was a scene that lingered long in the mind of Hammer--stolid, pudgy Solomon sitting quietly with something like sadness in his eyes, while Jenson, an agony of dumb horror in his face, panted in the grip of the Teuton, Harcourt watching with a troubled frown, and the Arab standing back in silence.

"Ordinarily that would be good evidence enough," stated Harcourt finally. "However, it is only your word against Jenson's, Solomon, with the preponderance of evidence in your favour.

"Still, Jenson has an excellent alibi. Where were you while you were absent from the dining-saloon?"

"In me own cabin, sir," came the prompt answer. "Fixing up them accounts, sir."

"Anyone see you there?"

"Not as I knows on sir."

"Then your bally alibi's smashed and we're worse tangled up than ever!"

Silence once more settled over the chart-house. For the life of him Hammer could not solve the puzzle, and in desperation he suggested that the remainder of the crew be sent for.

Since two of the forecastle mess had recognized the weapon there was a chance that some of the engine-room crew might have seen it and so might corroborate either the Arab or Baumgardner.

Harcourt accordingly summoned every man on board but with no result. Each and all positively denied ever having seen the knife, and finally the Arab was dismissed with the rest, Baumgardner being advanced to acting second mate with orders to prepare the body of Schlak for burial the next morning.

"I'm bally well stumped, gentlemen," announced Harcourt wearily. Jenson was now standing beside his master, one of Krausz's big hands resting on his arm. "What's your opinion, Hammer?"

The American hesitated. Plainly the secretary believed him to have framed up the charge, and it was next to impossible to believe that the fellow had really murdered the giant mate. Besides, the alibi was heavily in the man's favour.

"From the evidence of the Arab and John Solomon," he said slowly, "it would seem that Jenson is guilty. But the body was stiff, remember, and there had been a struggle, to say nothing of the alibi. On the other hand, Solomon cannot prove where he was at the time. I would suggest entering on the log that Schlak was murdered by persons unknown, and then put the matter up to the German Consul who would probably have jurisdiction at Mombasa."

"No," corrected Harcourt. "Extra territorial rights have been withdrawn in British East Africa. The government would have jurisdiction. What is your opinion, doctor?"

"I would leave it to you, captain. I say it iss for you to settle."

"And _I_ say," exclaimed Harcourt with sudden harshness, "that no man is to be murdered in my ship without someone swinging for it, by the Lord Harry! We'll get into Kilindini, and never a man goes ashore until this has been ferreted out. John Solomon, and you, Adolf Jenson, mind that!"

So the matter ended for the present, after affidavits and statements had been drawn up and signed by all concerned. But, as he paced the bridge that night, Cyrus Hammer thrashed the matter over and over in his mind. The strands were twisted a little bit too much to his manner of thinking.

Solomon's absence in his own cabin was bad, for there was nothing to prove that he had been there, save his own word. This, however, was balanced by the fact that the knife seemed to belong to Jenson, whose flat denial of this evidence looked very bad also. Yet his alibi was unimpeachable.

What with Baumgardner testifying against Solomon, and the latter against Jenson, the thing was badly tangled. Yet the evidence was in favour of the secretary clearly. He would hardly have stolen the paper from Krausz, over which the struggle would seem to have been waged, and he could account for his movements.

Despite the ownership of the knife, there would seem to be a much better case against John Solomon, except for the testimony of the Arab--and at this the American paused. _What had the supercargo said there at the door of the chart-house_?

For a long moment Hammer stood staring out at the sea, startled by this thought which had winged its way into his brain. Was it possible that in that moment Solomon had given the Arab his cue?

But why? He had not desired to testify against Jenson at first, beyond doubt. Hammer's mind flashed back again--Jenson also had left the chart-house shortly before Baumgardner's recognition of the blade.

Was it possible that Jenson had instructed the boatswain what to say, that Solomon had read his purpose and blocked the move by the counter testimony of his Arab?

"By Godfrey," thought the American, "that's expecting too much altogether of Solomon's wits. Besides, Baumgardner doesn't look as if he'd lie in order to save that little shrimp of a secretary. Well, I guess it's up to the authorities at Mombasa, and here's hoping they can find more sense in the whole affair than I can."

With which he patted the side-pocket of his coat reassuringly and devoted himself to keeping a sharper lookout than usual.

The next morning Schlak was buried, and the _Daphne_ went once more upon her way with the mystery still unsettled, until in due time she rounded into Kilindini, the southern harbour of Mombasa, and her anchors crashed down into the waters of the port.