“No,” contradicted the little man, prodigiously excited.  “Bolton wrote to me full particulars of the mummy, but said nothing about any manuscript.”

“Well, he wouldn’t,” replied Hervey calmly, “seeing that he’d know Latin.”

“He did know Latin,” admitted Braddock uneasily; “I taught him myself.  But do you mean to say that he got that manuscript and read it and intended to keep the fact of the emeralds secret?”

Hervey nodded three times, and twisted his cheroot in his mouth.

“How else can you figure the business out?” he demanded quietly, and with his eyes fixed on the excited Professor.  “Bolton must have got that manuscript, as I can’t remember what I did with it, save pass it along with the corpse.  He—­as you admit—­doesn’t tell you about it when he writes.  Well, then, I reckon he calculated getting this corpse to England, and intended to steal the emeralds when safely ashore.”

“But he could have done that on the boat,” said Archie quickly.

“I guess not, with me about,” said Hervey coolly.  “I’d have spotted his game and would have howled for shares.”

“You dare to say that?” demanded De Gayangos fiercely.

“Keep your hair on.  I dare to say anything that comes up my darned back, you bet.  I’m not going to knuckle down to a yellow-stomach—­”

Out flew Don Pedro’s long arm, and Hervey slammed against the wall.  He slipped his hand around to his hip pocket with an ugly smile, but before he could use the revolver he produced, Hope dashed up his arm, and the ball went through the ceiling.  “Lucy!” cried the young man, knowing that the drawing-room was overhead, and in a moment was out of the door, racing up the stairs at top speed.  Some sense of shame seemed to overpower Hervey as he thought that he might have shot the girl, and he replaced the revolver in his pocket with a shrug.

“I climb down and apologize,” he said to Don Pedro, who bowed gravely.

“Hang you, sir; you might have shot my daughter,” cried Braddock.  “The drawing-room, where she is sitting, is right overhead, and-”

As he spoke the door opened, and Lucy came in on Archie’s arm.  She was pale with fright, but had sustained no damage.  It seemed that the revolver bullet had passed through the floor some distance away from where she was sitting.

“I offer my humble apologies, miss,” said the cowed Hervey.

“I’ll break your neck, you ruffian!” growled Hope, who looked, and was, dangerous.  “How dare you shoot here and—­”

“It’s all right,” interposed Lucy, not wishing for further trouble.  “I am all safe.  But I shall remain here for the rest of your interview, Captain Hervey, as I am sure you will not shoot again in the presence of a lady.”

“No, miss,” muttered the captain, and when again invited by the angry Professor to speak, resumed his discourse in low tones.  “Wal, as I was saying,” he remarked, sitting down with a dogged look, “Bolton intended to clear with the emeralds, but I guess Sir Frank got ahead of him and packed him in that blamed case, while he annexed the emeralds.  He then took the manuscript, which he looted from Bolton’s corpse, and hid it among his books, as you say, while he left the blamed mummy in the garden of the old lady you talked about.  I guess that’s what I say.”