There had been a guilty squeak in the voice that had roused my suspicions.

"No doubt," I said, with pointed sarcasm, "among the many passengers you carried at various times was the late Mr.Richard Harding Davis.

He was a literary man of parts, and wrote, among other books, a charming little story called 'The Exiles.'" "What! Is he d----?
I mean I never heard of the gent," was the brazen response.

"There was a Davis, now, a Sebastian Davis, I think the name was, in the hair-oil business, if I am not mistaken.

A little fellow, with mutton-chop side whiskers.