THE BROKEN CHEST
Sam lifted the big chest, and, very carefully this time to make amends
for his previous dereliction, carried it into the private office. He
placed it on two chairs that his employer indicated and then withdrew,
closing the door softly behind him and rejoicing at having got off so
easily.
"Well, Allen," remarked Tyke, wiping his glasses and replacing them on
the bridge of his nose, "you're going to get your wish sooner than
either one of us expected."
"What do you mean?" asked Drew wonderingly.
"Don't you see anything familiar about this box?" replied Tyke,
answering a question in Yankee fashion by asking one.
"I don't know that I do," responded the other. Then, as he bent over
to examine the broken chest more closely, he corrected himself.
"Why, yes I do!" he cried eagerly. "Isn't this the one you pointed out
to me the other day as belonging to the man who fought with you against
the Malays?"
"That's it," confirmed Tyke. "It's Manuel Gomez's box. Queer," he
went on reflectively, "that of all the chests there were in that loft
the only one we thought of looking in should burst open at our very
feet. If I was superstitious" (here Drew smothered a smile, for he
knew that Tyke was nothing if not superstitious), "I might think there
was some meaning in it. But of course," he added hastily, "we know
there isn't."
"Of course," acquiesced the younger man.
Tyke seemed rather disappointed at this ready assent.
"Well, anyway, now that it has opened right under our noses, so to
speak, we'll look into it. I guess we've got far enough ahead with our
moving to take the time."
Drew, who was burning with curiosity and impatience, agreed with him
heartily.
The chest had split close to the lock, so that it was an easy matter
after a minute or two of manipulation to throw the cover back.
A musty, discolored coat lay on top, and Tyke was just about to lift
this out when Winters stuck his head into the office.
"Some one to see you, sir," he announced.
Tyke gave a little grunt of impatience.
"Tell him I'm busy," he snapped. Then he caught himself up. "Wait a
minute," he said. "Did he tell you his name?"
"No, sir," returned Winters. "But I'll find out." In a moment he was
back. "Captain Rufus Hamilton, he says."
The petulant expression on Grimshaw's face changed instantly to one of
pleasure.
"Bring him right in," he ordered.
Drew, thinking that Grimshaw would wish to see his friend alone, rose
to follow Winters.
"I suppose we'll put this off until after he's gone," he remarked.
But his employer motioned to him to remain.
"Stay right where you are," he directed. "Cap'n Rufe is one of the
best friends I have, and I'm glad he came jest now."
The door opened again, and Winters ushered in a powerfully built man
who seemed to be about fifty years of age. He had piercing blue eyes,
a straight nose with wide nostrils, and a square jaw, about which were
lines that spoke of decision and the habit of command. His face was
bronzed by exposure to the weather, and his brown hair was graying at
the temples. There was something open and sincere about the man that
caused Drew to like him at once.
The newcomer stepped briskly forward, and Tyke met him half way,
gripping his hand in the warmest kind of welcome.
"Well met, Cap'n!" cried Tyke. "I haven't seen you in a dog's age. I
was jest wondering the other day what had become of you. There's
nobody in the world I'd rather see. What good wind blew you to this
port?"
"I'm just as glad to see you, Tyke," replied the visitor, with equal
heartiness. "I've been in the China trade for the last few years, with
Frisco as my home port. You can be sure that if I'd been hailing from
New York I'd have been in to see you every time I came into the harbor."
Tyke introduced Drew to the newcomer, and then the two friends settled
down to an exchange of reminiscences that seemed sure to be prolonged
for the rest of the afternoon.
After a while Captain Hamilton leaned back to light a cigar, and in the
momentary nagging of conversation that ensued while he was getting it
to going well, his gaze fell on the open chest.
"What have you got here?" he asked with a smile. "Looks like a
sailor's dunnage."
"And that's jest what it is," answered Tyke, recalled to the work on
which he had been engaged when the captain's coming had interrupted.
"I declare! your visit put it clean out of my head. It's the box that
used to belong to Manuel, that old bo'sun of mine that I guess I've
told you about in some of my yarns. The one that was with me off
Borneo when I lost these two fingers."
"That run-in you had with the Malays?" returned the captain. "Yes, I
remember your telling me about him. Saved your life, I think you said,
when one of the beggars was going to knife you."
"That's the one," confirmed Grimshaw. "He was shipwrecked later off
the Horn. He left his box here with me to take care of for him."
"Seems to be pretty well broken up."
"The porter dropped it coming downstairs," explained Drew.
"You had it brought in here to save room, I suppose," said the captain.
"I noticed that you were all cluttered up outside."
"Why, it wasn't that exactly," replied Tyke, slightly embarrassed.
"You see, Allen an' I were rummaging around in the top loft the other
day, an' among other things our eyes fell on this box. That started me
off yarning about the tight places Manuel an' I had been in together,
an' how he'd hinted that some day he'd be rich. Then I told Allen of
how Manuel said, when he left his box with me, that there was something
in it worth more'n diamonds an' then----
"Yes, I can guess the rest," said Captain Hamilton, with a quiet smile.
"And then you both got a hankering to see what was in the box."
"Allen did," admitted Tyke, "'an' I ain't denying that my fingers
itched a little too. But I put it off until we had got moved into our
new place. Now, didn't I, Allen?" he demanded virtuously.
Drew assented smilingly.
"Why didn't you wait then?" gibed the captain.
"We would have," affirmed Grimshaw eagerly, conscious that here at last
he was on firm ground, "but that black rascal, Sam, the porter, dropped
the box on his way downstairs an' it split wide open, as you see. If I
was superstitious----" here he glared challengingly at both of his
listeners, who by an effort kept their faces grave, "I'd sure think it
was meant that we should look into it right away. What do you say,
Cap'n Rufe?"
"I agree with you," replied the captain. "The man is dead, and the box
is yours by right of storage if nothing else. This Manuel didn't have
wife or children that you know of, did he?"
"Nary one," responded Grimshaw. "When he'd been drinking too much he
used to cry sometimes an' say that he hadn't a relative in the world to
care whether he lived or died."
"That being the case, heave ahead," advised the captain. "You don't
owe anything to the living or the dead to keep you from finding out all
you want to know."
Reinforced by this opinion, the old man again lifted the coat from the
top of the box.
What lay beneath was a curious medley of articles such as might have
been gathered at various times by a sailor who was familiar with all
the ports of the world. Mingled in with old trousers and boots and
caps, were curiously tinted shells, clasp knives with broken blades,
grotesque images of heathen gods, a tarantula and a centipede preserved
in a small jar of alcohol, miraculously saved from breakage.
But what especially attracted their attention in the midst of this
miscellaneous riffraff was a small cedar box, about eight inches long
by six inches wide and deep. It was heavily carved, and was secured by
a lock of unusual size and strength.
"Wonder if this is the thing that was worth more'n diamonds," grunted
Tyke, with a carelessness that was too elaborate not to be assumed.
"It must be that, if anything," replied Captain Hamilton, who had let
his cigar go out and was now vigorously chewing the stub.
Drew said nothing, but his cheeks were flushed and his eyes brighter
than usual.
Grimshaw fumbled with the lock for a moment, but found it immovable.
"Jest step out, Allen, and get all the keys we have an' we'll see if
any of 'em fit," he directed.
Drew did so, and returned in a moment with the entire collection that
the shop boasted. Tyke tried them all in turn, but none fitted.
"I guess there's no help for it," he said at last. "I hate to spoil
the box, but we'll have to force the lock. Get a chisel, and we'll pry
the thing open."
The chisel was brought and did its work promptly. There was a rasping,
groaning sound, as if the box were complaining at this rude assault
upon its privacy, then, with a hand that trembled a little, Tyke lifted
the cover.
All three heads were close together as the men bent over and peered in.
Their first glimpse brought a sense of disappointment. They had half
expected to catch the sheen of gold or the glitter of jewels. Instead
they saw only a piece of oilskin that was carefully wrapped about what
proved to be some sheets of paper almost as stiff as parchment.
"Huh," grunted Tyke. "Pesky lot of trouble with mighty little result.
I told you I thought Manuel was a bit touched in the brain, an' I guess
I was right."
"Wait a minute," said Captain Hamilton. "Don't go off at half-cock.
Let's see what's in that oil-skin."
Tyke opened the packet. The others drew up their chairs, one on either
side, as he unfolded the oilskin carefully on his desk.
There were two sheets of paper inside, so old and mildewed that they
had to be handled carefully to prevent their falling to pieces.
One of the papers seemed to be an official statement written in
Spanish. The other consisted of rude tracings, moving apparently at
random, with here and there a word that was almost illegible.
The three men looked at this blankly. Drew was the first to speak.
"It's a map!" he exclaimed eagerly.