The great galleon lay in semi-retirement under the sand and weed and
water of the northern bay where the fortune of war and weather had long
ago ensconced it. Three and a quarter centuries had passed since the day
when it had taken the high seas as an important unit of a fighting
squadron—precisely which squadron the learned were not agreed. The
galleon had brought nothing into the world, but it had, according to
tradition and report, taken much out of it. But how much? There again
the learned were in disagreement. Some were as generous in their
estimate as an income-tax assessor, others applied a species of higher
criticism to the submerged treasure chests, and debased their contents to
the currency of goblin gold. Of the former school was Lulu, Duchess of
Dulverton.
The Duchess was not only a believer in the existence of a sunken treasure
of alluring proportions; she also believed that she knew of a method by
which the said treasure might be precisely located and cheaply
disembedded. An aunt on her mother’s side of the family had been Maid of
Honour at the Court of Monaco, and had taken a respectful interest in the
deep-sea researches in which the Throne of that country, impatient
perhaps of its terrestrial restrictions, was wont to immerse itself. It
was through the instrumentality of this relative that the Duchess learned
of an invention, perfected and very nearly patented by a Monegaskan
savant, by means of which the home-life of the Mediterranean sardine
might be studied at a depth of many fathoms in a cold white light of more
than ball-room brilliancy. Implicated in this invention (and, in the
Duchess’s eyes, the most attractive part of it) was an electric suction
dredge, specially designed for dragging to the surface such objects of
interest and value as might be found in the more accessible levels of the
ocean-bed. The rights of the invention were to be acquired for a matter
of eighteen hundred francs, and the apparatus for a few thousand more.
The Duchess of Dulverton was rich, as the world counted wealth; she
nursed the hope, of being one day rich at her own computation. Companies
had been formed and efforts had been made again and again during the
course of three centuries to probe for the alleged treasures of the
interesting galleon; with the aid of this invention she considered that
she might go to work on the wreck privately and independently. After
all, one of her ancestors on her mother’s side was descended from Medina
Sidonia, so she was of opinion that she had as much right to the treasure
as anyone. She acquired the invention and bought the apparatus.
Among other family ties and encumbrances, Lulu possessed a nephew, Vasco
Honiton, a young gentleman who was blessed with a small income and a
large circle of relatives, and lived impartially and precariously on
both. The name Vasco had been given him possibly in the hope that he
might live up to its adventurous tradition, but he limited himself
strictly to the home industry of adventurer, preferring to exploit the
assured rather than to explore the unknown. Lulu’s intercourse with him
had been restricted of recent years to the negative processes of being
out of town when he called on her, and short of money when he wrote to
her. Now, however, she bethought herself of his eminent suitability for
the direction of a treasure-seeking experiment; if anyone could extract
gold from an unpromising situation it would certainly be Vasco—of course,
under the necessary safeguards in the way of supervision. Where money
was in question Vasco’s conscience was liable to fits of obstinate
silence.
Somewhere on the west coast of Ireland the Dulverton property included a
few acres of shingle, rock, and heather, too barren to support even an
agrarian outrage, but embracing a small and fairly deep bay where the
lobster yield was good in most seasons. There was a bleak little house
on the property, and for those who liked lobsters and solitude, and were
able to accept an Irish cook’s ideas as to what might be perpetrated in
the name of mayonnaise, Innisgluther was a tolerable exile during the
summer months. Lulu seldom went there herself, but she lent the house
lavishly to friends and relations. She put it now at Vasco’s disposal.
“It will be the very place to practise and experiment with the salvage
apparatus,” she said; “the bay is quite deep in places, and you will be
able to test everything thoroughly before starting on the treasure hunt.”
In less than three weeks Vasco turned up in town to report progress.
“The apparatus works beautifully,” he informed his aunt; “the deeper one
got the clearer everything grew. We found something in the way of a
sunken wreck to operate on, too!”
“A wreck in Innisgluther Bay!” exclaimed Lulu.
“A submerged motor-boat, the _Sub-Rosa_,” said Vasco.
“No! really?” said Lulu; “poor Billy Yuttley’s boat. I remember it went
down somewhere off that coast some three years ago. His body was washed
ashore at the Point. People said at the time that the boat was capsized
intentionally—a case of suicide, you know. People always say that sort
of thing when anything tragic happens.”
“In this case they were right,” said Vasco.
“What do you mean?” asked the Duchess hurriedly. “What makes you think
so?”
“I know,” said Vasco simply.
“Know? How can you know? How can anyone know? The thing happened three
years ago.”
“In a locker of the _Sub-Rosa_ I found a water-tight strong-box. It
contained papers.” Vasco paused with dramatic effect and searched for a
moment in the inner breast-pocket of his coat. He drew out a folded slip
of paper. The Duchess snatched at it in almost indecent haste and moved
appreciably nearer the fireplace.
“Was this in the _Sub-Rosa’s_ strong-box?” she asked.
“Oh no,” said Vasco carelessly, “that is a list of the well-known people
who would be involved in a very disagreeable scandal if the _Sub-Rosa’s_
papers were made public. I’ve put you at the head of it, otherwise it
follows alphabetical order.”
The Duchess gazed helplessly at the string of names, which seemed for the
moment to include nearly every one she knew. As a matter of fact, her
own name at the head of the list exercised an almost paralysing effect on
her thinking faculties.
“Of course you have destroyed the papers?” she asked, when she had
somewhat recovered herself. She was conscious that she made the remark
with an entire lack of conviction.
Vasco shook his head.
“But you should have,” said Lulu angrily; “if, as you say, they are
highly compromising—”
“Oh, they are, I assure you of that,” interposed the young man.
“Then you should put them out of harm’s way at once. Supposing anything
should leak out, think of all these poor, unfortunate people who would be
involved in the disclosures,” and Lulu tapped the list with an agitated
gesture.
“Unfortunate, perhaps, but not poor,” corrected Vasco; “if you read the
list carefully you’ll notice that I haven’t troubled to include anyone
whose financial standing isn’t above question.”
Lulu glared at her nephew for some moments in silence. Then she asked
hoarsely: “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing—for the remainder of my life,” he answered meaningly. “A little
hunting, perhaps,” he continued, “and I shall have a villa at Florence.
The Villa Sub-Rosa would sound rather quaint and picturesque, don’t you
think, and quite a lot of people would be able to attach a meaning to the
name. And I suppose I must have a hobby; I shall probably collect
Raeburns.”
Lulu’s relative, who lived at the Court of Monaco, got quite a snappish
answer when she wrote recommending some further invention in the realm of
marine research.