“How dare you!” cried Brade. “By what right—”
“I am hunting the murderer of Dan Winterslip,” broke in Hallet coolly. “And I follow the trail wherever it leads. In your room I found a letter from the British Consul here addressed to you, and informing you that Winterslip was alive and in Honolulu. I also found this tin of Corsican cigarettes. Just outside the living-room door of Winterslip’s house, we picked up the stub of a Corsican cigarette. It’s a brand not on sale in Honolulu.”
Brade had dropped back into his chair, and was staring in a dazed way at the tin box in Hallet’s hand. Hallet indicated the Hawaiian boy in the corner. “Ever see this lad before, Mr. Brade?” Brade nodded.
“You had a talk with him last Sunday night on the beach?”
“Yes.”
“The boy’s told us all about it. He re
