“Yes,” admitted Delroy. “That’s true.”
Heffelbower opened his lips to say something more; then changed his mind, closed them, and turned away with a significant smile. He examined the knots in the rope, the pier, the waters of the bay, on which, just beyond the pier, a small boat was riding at anchor.
“T’e boat iss yours, I suppose, Mr. Delroy?” he asked.
“Yes—it has been there ready for use since Saturday.”
As he spoke, a gust of wind swung the boat in towards them.
Young Graham, who was standing on the extreme edge of the pier, glanced down into it, and uttered a sudden exclamation.
“What’s that?” he cried, with arm outstretched.
The others followed the gesture, but a second gust swung the boat away.
“What was it?” asked the coroner.
Without answering, Graham sprang into the water, and with a few strokes reached the boat. He climbed into it and untied it from the buoy. Then, at the instant another gust of wind came from the ocean, he released his hold. The boat was swept against the pier; he fended her off with the boathook and made fast.
“This is what I meant,” he said, and pointed to a pistol lying at his feet.
They stared down at it, amazed. It was the coroner who spoke first.
“Pass it up,” he said.
He turned it over carefully in his hand, It was a
