The conference below lasted perhaps an hour. At the end of that
time the quarantine officer came up and shouted a direction from
below, as a result of which the jolly-boat was cut loose, and,
towed by the tug, taken to the quarantine station. There was an
argument, I believe, between Turner and the officer, as to allowing
us to proceed up the river without waiting for the police. Turner
prevailed, however, and, from the time we hoisted the yellow flag,
we were on our way to the city, a tug panting beside us, urging
the broad and comfortable lines of the old cargo boat to a
semblance of speed.
The quarantine officer, a dapper little man, remained on the boat,
and busied himself officiously, getting the names of the men, peering
at Singleton through his barred window, and expressing disappointment
at my lack of foresight in having the bloodstains cleared away.
"Every stain is a clue, my man, to the trained eye," he chirruped.
"With an axe, too! What a brutal method! Brutal! Where is the axe?"
"Gone," I said patiently. "It was stolen out of the captain's cabin."
He eyed me over his glasses.
"That's very strange," he commented. "No stains, no axe! You
fellows have been mighty careful to destroy the evidence, haven't
you?"
All that long day we made our deliberate progress up the river.
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