"
"What was the cause of the affair?" Isobel asked.
"The man is not one of the ship's crew, I understand. His name is
Frascuelo, and it appears that he was engaged to place some bunker coal
aboard early this morning. He says that he was drugged, and his
clothes stolen; that he came off to the ship at a late hour, and that
some one flung him headlong into a hold which, luckily for him, was
nearly full of cotton bales. He was stunned by the fall, and were it
not for Captain Courtenay's custom of having all hatches taken off and
a thorough examination of the cargo made before the holds are finally
battened down for the voyage, Frascuelo might now be in a tight place
in more than one sense."
Dr. Christobal was proud of his idiomatic English. He spoke the
language with the careless freedom of a Londoner.
"Frascuelo seems to have passed an eventful day," said the little
French Comte, who had been waiting anxiously for a chance to join in
the conversation.
"But why should he want to kill poor Mr. Boyle?" inquired Isobel, after
giving the Frenchman an encouraging glance. Incidentally, she smiled
at Elsie.
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