There’s been a fight and everybody on board is dead or dying. The
_Orkney_ is sinking, and we’re all due to drown if we live long
enough. It was the gold. A million pounds and more. Petroff told
us about it, and we jumped the officers. They fought hard, but we
worried ’em down. Then the second mate fired the magazine. Petroff
and I are fixing a bottle. We are in the * * * between * * * Get the
gold if you can. No more from
Your Brother
BILL.
Caruth’s hands dropped, and he looked up. His cheeks were white. So
this was the explanation? The girl’s quest was for gold. The letter she
sought contained, not the names of revolutionists, as he had inferred,
but information as to the whereabouts of gold that seemed already to
have cost many men their lives. It all seemed very sordid to Caruth.
He had never earned or lacked a penny in his life, and to struggle for
mere money seemed to him little short of disgraceful. It speaks volumes
for the impression Marie Fitzhugh had made upon him that it never even
occurred to him to misdoubt her interest in the matter, or to question
whether she might not be a mere adventuress, the tool of private
thieves rather than the agent of public conspirators. Perhaps, after
all, this was because he was tenacious of his beliefs, and, once having
formed them, did not readily change.
One thing, however, stood out in his consciousness: He must discover
her whereabouts and tell her that her letter had been found. He had no
qualms in regard to Wilkins. The man had forced his confidence upon
him, and he was under no obligation to preserve it. Miss Fitzhugh owned
the letter. She had bought it from its owner and had paid for it, and
was entitled to know its contents. His part was to find out if she
still wanted it, and to make sure that the man who held it would be
available if she did.
He turned to Wilkins, who had waited patiently for him to speak. “I
can’t help you off-hand,” he declared, “but perhaps I may be able to
do so later. Perhaps I can trace that letter. I don’t know whether I
can or not, but I will try. Certainly I can learn something about the
wreck of the _Orkney_, and that ought to help. Your brother’s room is
vacant. Suppose you occupy it to-night, and meanwhile I will see what I
can learn. And if I were you, I should keep that letter to myself.”
The man’s lips curled contemptuously. “Don’t you worry about me none!”
he responded grimly. “I ain’t takin’ no chances. I’ve had time to
arrange things. Do you know what would eventuate if I didn’t show up
for such and such a time? Well, I’ll tell you. Copies of this here
letter would go to half a dozen newspapers _mucho pronto_. An’ I judge
that would queer the game some for the folks that did for Jim.”
It was this interview that had caused Caruth to consult Bristow and to
tell that clever newspaper man a great deal more than he had dreamed of
doing when he began, though, for some reason not entirely intelligible
to himself, he did not touch on the arrival of the Westerner. It was
the interview, too, that led him to the presence of his charmer.