murdered? They—or somebody who was in with them, who afterwards murdered them? Do you understand?"
"I'm afraid I don't," he said. "No—I don't quite see things."
"Look you here, Scarterfield," said I. "Supposing a gang of men—men of no conscience, desperate, adventurous men—gets together, as men were together on that ship, the doings and fate of which seem to be pretty mysterious. They're all out for what they can get. One of them is in possession of a valuable secret, and he imparts it to the others, or to some of them—a chosen lot. There have been known such cases—where a secret is shared by say five or six men—in which murder after murder occurs until the secret is only held by one or two. A half-share in a thing is worth more than one-sixth, Scarterfield—and a secret of one is far more valuable than a secret shared with three. Do you understand now?"
"I see!" he answered slowly. "You mean that Salter and Noah may have got rid of Netherfield Baxter and that somebody has got rid of them?"
"Precisely!" said I. "You put it very clearly."
"Well," he said, "if that's so, there are—as has been plain all along—two men concerned in putting the Quicks out of the way. For Noah was finished off on the same night that saw Salter finished—and there was four hundred miles distance between the scenes of their respective murders. The man who killed Noah was not the man who killed Salter, to be sure."
"Of course!" I agreed. "We've always known
