“The question is what we are to do?” I asked.
“The man’s a dangerous ruffian, who sticks at nothing. I’m thinking it
wouldn’t be a bad thing to put a rope round the chest and tow it
alongside for half an hour; then we could open it at our ease. Or if we
just tied the box up and kept him from getting any water maybe that
would do as well. Or the carpenter could put a coat of varnish over it
and stop all the blow-holes.”
“Come, Allardyce,” said I, angrily. “You don’t seriously mean to say
that a whole ship’s company are going to be terrorised by a single man
in a box. If he’s there, I’ll engage to fetch him out!” I went to my
room and came back with my revolver in my hand. “Now, Allardyce,” said
I, “do you open the lock, and I’ll stand on guard.”
“For God’s sake, think what you are doing, sir!” cried the mate. “Two
men have lost their lives over it, and the blood of one not yet dry upon
the carpet.”
“The more reason why we should revenge him.”
“Well, sir, at least let me call the carpenter. Three are better than
two, and he is a good stout man.”
He went off in search of him, and I was left alone with the striped
chest in the cabin. I don’t think that I’m a nervous man, but I kept
the table between me and this solid old relic of the Spanish Main.
In the growing light of morning the red and white striping was beginning
to appear, and the curious scrolls and wreaths of metal and carving
which showed the loving pains which cunning craftsmen had expended upon
it. Presently the carpenter and the mate came back together, the former
with a hammer in his hand.
“It’s a bad business, this, sir,” said he, shaking his head, as he
looked at the body of the mate. “And you think there’s someone hiding
in the box?”
“There’s no doubt about it,” said Allardyce, picking up the screwdriver
and setting his jaw like a man who needs to brace his courage.
“I’ll drive the lock back if you will both stand by. If he rises let
him have it on the head with your hammer, carpenter. Shoot at once,
sir, if he raises his hand. Now!”
He had knelt down in front of the striped chest, and passed the blade of
the tool under the lid. With a sharp snick the lock flew back. “Stand
by!” yelled the mate, and with a heave he threw open the massive top of
the box. As it swung up we all three sprang back, I with my pistol
levelled, and the carpenter with the hammer above his head. Then, as
nothing happened, we each took a step forward and peeped in. The box
was empty.
Not quite empty either, for in one corner was lying an old yellow
candlestick, elaborately engraved, which appeared to be as old as the
box itself. Its rich yellow tone and artistic shape suggested that it
was an object of value. For the rest there was nothing more weighty or
valuable than dust in the old striped treasure-chest.
“Well, I’m blessed!” cried Allardyce, staring blankly into it.
“Where does the weight come in, then?”
“Look at the thickness of the sides, and look at the lid. Why, it’s
five inches through. And see that great metal spring across it.”
“That’s for holding the lid up,” said the mate. “You see, it won’t lean
back. What’s that German printing on the inside?”
“It means that it was made by Johann Rothstein of Augsburg, in 1606.”
“And a solid bit of work, too. But it doesn’t throw much light on what
has passed, does it, Captain Barclay? That candlestick looks like gold.
We shall have something for our trouble after all.”
He leant forward to grasp it, and from that moment I have never doubted
as to the reality of inspiration, for on the instant I caught him by the
collar and pulled him straight again. It may have been some story of
the Middle Ages which had come back to my mind, or it may have been that
my eye had caught some red which was not that of rust upon the upper
part of the lock, but to him and to me it will always seem an
inspiration, so prompt and sudden was my action.
“There’s devilry here,” said I. “Give me the crooked stick from the
corner.”
It was an ordinary walking-cane with a hooked top. I passed it over the
candlestick and gave it a pull. With a flash a row of polished steel
fangs shot out from below the upper lip, and the great striped chest
snapped at us like a wild animal. Clang came the huge lid into its
place, and the glasses on the swinging rack sang and tinkled with the
shock. The mate sat down on the edge of the table and shivered like a
frightened horse.
“You’ve saved my life, Captain Barclay!” said he.
So this was the secret of the striped treasure-chest of old Don Ramirez
di Leyra, and this was how he preserved his ill-gotten gains from the
Terra Firma and the Province of Veraquas. Be the thief ever so cunning
he could not tell that golden candlestick from the other articles of
value, and the instant that he laid hand upon it the terrible spring was
unloosed and the murderous steel pikes were driven into his brain, while
the shock of the blow sent the victim backward and enabled the chest to
automatically close itself. How many, I wondered, had fallen victims to
the ingenuity of the mechanic of Ausgburg? And as I thought of the
possible history of that grim striped chest my resolution was very
quickly taken.
“Carpenter, bring three men, and carry this on deck.”
“Going to throw it overboard, sir?”
“Yes, Mr. Allardyce. I’m not superstitious as a rule, but there are
some things which are more than a sailor can be called upon to stand.”
“No wonder that brig made heavy weather, Captain Barclay, with such a
thing on board. The glass is dropping fast, sir, and we are only just
in time.”
So we did not even wait for the three sailors, but we carried it out,
the mate, the carpenter, and I, and we pushed it with our own hands over
the bulwarks. There was a white spout of water, and it was gone. There
it lies, the striped chest, a thousand fathoms deep, and if, as they
say, the sea will some day be dry land, I grieve for the man who finds
that old box and tries to penetrate into its secret.