But the Professor was not going to let Captain Hervey escape without giving him full information. Before the Yankee skipper could reach the front door, Braddock was at his heels, gasping and blowing like a grampus.
“Come back, come back. Tell me all.”
“I reckon not,” rejoined the mariner, removing Braddock's grip. “You ain't the one to give the money. I'll go to the Don, or to Inspector Date of Pierside.”
“But Sir Frank must be innocent,” insisted Braddock.
“He's got to prove it,” was the dry response. “Let me go.”
“No. You must tell me on what grounds—”
“Oh, the devil take you!” said Hervey hastily, and sat down on one of the hall chairs. “It's this way, since you won't let me skip until I tell you. This almighty aristocrat came to Pierside on the same afternoon as I cast anchor. While Bolton was on board, he looked in to have a yarn of sorts.”
“What about?”
“Now, how in creation should I know?” snapped the skipper. “I wasn't on hand, as I'd enough to do with unloading cargo. But his lordship went with Bolton to the state-room, and they talked for half an hour. When they came out, I saw that his lordship had his hair riz, and heard him saying things to Bolton.”