IN WHICH A BLACK BOX PLAYS A DECISIVE PART
A smear of smoke on the horizon was all that was left to denote the
presence of the _Naomi_ when John Bard came to me as I sat in the shade
of the after-deck of the _Cristobal_, going through the mail he had
brought me from Rodriguez. He dropped into a chair at my side.
"Captain Lawless and that Scots engineer of his," he said, "spent the
greater part of the night ashore grubbing for gold round the image.
But they didn't find as much as a dollar. And then to discover they
had lost their launch. Gee! they were as sick as mud!"
"Bah!" I answered. "I'm fed up with the whole place. The sooner we're
at sea again the better I shall be pleased. I want to get back to
work, John...."
"We're sailing at four o'clock," my friend replied. "But before we up
anchor, Desmond, old man, I should like to have a look at that
burial-chamber and the passage by which you escaped. What do you say
to taking me ashore now and showing me round?"
"Anything to pass the time," I said wearily. "When do we start?"
"Right now. And I'll bring a pick and spade. If there's time we might
have another grub for gold in the lava round the idol...."
"You bet the canny Scot hasn't left an inch of soil unturned," I
laughed as old John went off.
Half an hour later we were pushing our way across the rocky valley at
the end of which, against the mountainside, the great idol was set. We
skirted the smoking volcano and at length stood before the narrow
fissure, half-hidden by a gigantic boulder, through which I had emerged
from the burial-chamber.
We had borrowed a couple of lanterns from the ship and Bard carried a
pick-axe while I shouldered a spade. We left our tools at the entrance
and lit our lamps. Then I led the way into the passage. At the end I
found the solid masonry of the table hanging down into the passage. A
steady heave swung it round and there, above our heads, was the black
square opening of the death-chamber.
And now I struck. The place had too poignant memories for me. I
hoisted Bard up into the hole, but I declined to accompany him.
Swinging my lamp in my hand, I wandered back along the passage towards
the cleft by which we had entered.
I had gone perhaps a hundred yards from the cave when the light of my
lantern, striking low, revealed a square flag set in the floor of the
passage. It sounded hollow to the foot. Setting down my lamp I
stooped to examine it and then I saw that the stone was roughly carved.
The carving was worn and filled in with dust. I scraped it clear as
best I could with my hands and then saw that the stone was carved with
the likeness of a turtle, the counterpart of the turtle carved on the
table in the cave. I could see the head and tail and the four flippers
roughly hewn.
"John!" I shouted. "Here, John!"
My voice reverberated weirdly in the low-roofed passage. I dropped to
my knees and tried to heave the stone up. But it was firmly set and
resisted all my efforts. Then I heard Bard's footsteps echoing along
the passage.
"Will you look at that?" I said as he came up.
"By George!" he exclaimed. "Captain Roberts, his mark! Can you heave
it up? Wait! I'll get the tools!"
And he darted off along the passage.
With the aid of the pick we prised the stone up. A slot had obviously
been cut for it in the rock. A shallow opening was revealed and at the
bottom stood a black box.
It was of black leather, discoloured but apparently in good condition,
the corners bound with some dull metal which I took to be brass. It
was about four foot long, with a rounded lid studded with nails. Bard
lifted up one of the lanterns whilst I, lying on my face, dropped an
arm into the hole. My fingers closed on a handle at the side of the
box. I heaved. The box was immensely heavy and I found that I could
barely lift it. I managed, however, to push it to one side, thus
making room for my feet. Then I dropped into the hole, up-ended the
casket and by dint of our combined exertions we landed it on the floor
of the passage.
I looked at Bard and he looked at me.
"You--open it!" I said hoarsely.
The box seemed to be of Spanish manufacture for the leather was
handsomely tooled in the Cordova fashion. It was fitted with an
elaborately chased iron or steel lock with a hasp that rattled to
Bard's touch. Without further ceremony he inserted the point of the
pick under the hasp, wrenched, and the nails giving way in the rotten
leather, the whole lock came off. Then he threw up the lid and we saw
a layer of discoloured brown canvas. This I pulled aside and we fell
back in amazement.
For the box was filled to the brim with magnificent gold and silver
vessels, interspersed with them richly chased pistols and a couple of
daggers with hilts studded with gems. There were, amongst other
things, a superbly wrought ewer and basin, both of which seemed to be
of solid gold, a flat gold dish set with diamonds and rubies, a
gem-laden crucifix, the Christ in pure gold, and an enormous variety of
gold and silver forks and spoons. We laid all these treasures out on
the floor of the passage and then, beneath some folded lengths of rich
crimson brocade, came upon a long ebony box in which, wrapped loosely
in a cambric scarf yellowed with age, was a superb collection of gems.
There were no less than three magnificent _parures_ of pearls, such as
great ladies in the days of the Merry Monarch wore upon their neck and
bosom, a number of diamond and pearl drops such as were worn on the
forehead, diamond ear-rings, a huge emerald set as a brooch, several
heavy gold chains, and some diamond buckles. Beside the ebony box,
enveloped in a flowered silk wrap, was a curiously fashioned silver
globe richly set with different precious stones to represent the
various capitals of the world.
Bard heaved a deep sigh and looked at me.
"My word, old boy!" he exclaimed, "you've done it at last!"
"What--what do you suppose it's worth?" I asked rather unsteadily.
"A hundred thousand, two hundred thousand pounds," answered Bard. "Who
can say? The antiquarian value, altogether apart from the intrinsic,
of some of these things--that crucifix and that globe, for example must
be very considerable.
"That emerald and those brilliants, for instance.... but you aren't
listening."
I wasn't. A sudden vision had come to me of clear grey eyes trustfully
raised to mine, of a tangle of copper-coloured hair that rested against
my coat, of a slim warm body that clung confidingly to me. The
discoloured leather trunk which lay at our feet was destined to change
the whole course of my life. Hope, to which, with Marjorie, I had said
good-bye, came surging back into my heart. Our island dream was not at
an end.... unless good fortune had come to me too late.
"When will the _Naomi_ reach Panama?" I suddenly asked.
"In about a week or ten days," John replied. "Why?"
"Because," I said, "I _must_ reach her by cable!...."
It was ultimately from Rodriguez that my message was sent. Akawa,
Bard's Japanese butler, took it down the hill to the cable office. I
was prostrate with a bad bout of malaria, which I must have contracted
in the steamy woods of Cock Island. My cable was to Marjorie, and this
is what it said:
"The barriers are down. When will you marry me? DESMOND."
But no reply came. All through the feverish days of my illness, a
shadowy cable addressed to me flitted through my tortured mind.
Sometimes, when I was light-headed, as Bard told me afterwards, I would
fancy that Marjorie had replied, that Akawa was handing me the
message.... But when consciousness returned, I awoke to a dark world
which even the leather trunk locked away in Bard's strong-room could
not illumine....
It was weeks before I could travel to New York, where I placed the
treasure in the hands of a firm of antiquaries. They advised that it
should only come on the market gradually, piece by piece, in order not
to depreciate its value. I do not, therefore, know even now exactly
how much it will realise; but from what they tell me I am quite
justified in regarding myself as a comparatively wealthy man. Bard
will not touch a cent of the treasure. He does not need it, he says,
and it belongs to me....
A cable from the Chief, to whom I had communicated my New York address,
awaited me on my arrival from Panama. It directed me to go to
Washington for instructions. The treasure disposed of, I accordingly
boarded the train and proceeded to the capital.
From my hotel at Washington I telephoned to my old friend, Vincent
Pargett, at the Embassy, and invited myself to dinner. Vincent made me
welcome in his very comfortable bachelor apartment, and over the
cocktails produced a batch of cables.
"You'd better read this one first, Desmond," he said. "It came only
this morning. The rest have been here a week," and he tossed over the
envelope.
It was from Marjorie. My heart seemed to stop beating as my eyes fell
on her name printed at the foot of the message. It was from London,
and I realised that my cable must have missed her at Panama and
followed her home. This was her reply:
"Whenever you like.--Your MARJORIE."
There are moments which justify even the Secret Service agent in
abandoning his wonted habit of reticence. With Marjorie's dear message
in my hand I told old Vincent, whom I had known all my life, the news
which it contained.
"Three cheers!" exclaimed my friend, then raised his glass.
"I drink," said he with mock solemnity, "to the passing of England's
premier sleuth!"
* * * * *
I wonder! Shall I, in the stay-at-home Government billet which the
Chief procured for me and happy in the possession of Marjorie as my
wife, always be able to resist the beckoning finger of romance luring
towards high adventure and spirited endeavour? Shall I, to the end of
the chapter, remain deaf to the call of the blood, aloof from the
thrill of the man-hunt? _Quien sabe_? Who knows?
Of Clubfoot I never heard again, and to this day I do not know whether,
weak as he was and single-handed in that little launch, he ever made
the land. Garth, inclined to be difficult at first, resigned himself
at the last with a good grace to our matrimonial projects. I think the
argument that my share of Captain Roberts' treasure would remain in the
family made a distinct appeal to his Lancashire horse-sense. Carstairs
is with us still and is developing into an excellent butler.
For the Vice-Consul at Rodriguez, whose friendly services I had not
forgotten, the Chief procured the C.B.E. I am told that he wears it
very impressively, dangling from its purple ribbon on his shirt front,
when, in evening dress, according to the protocol, he attends the
President of Rodriguez at the opening of the Legislature....
THE END
VALENTINE WILLIAMS' NOVELS.
THE MAN WITH THE CLUBFOOT
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End of Project Gutenberg's The Return of Clubfoot, by Valentine Williams