Between three and four in the morning the clouds broke over the
Pontiac, and the moon, riding high, picked out in black and silver the
long hulk that lay cradled between the iron shells of warehouses and
the wooden frames of tenements on either side. The galley and covered
gangway presented a mass of undefined shadow, against which the white
deck shone brightly, stretching to the forecastle and bows, where the
tiny glass roof of the photographer glistened like a gem in the
Pontiac's crest. So peaceful and motionless she lay that she might
have been some petrifaction of a past age now first exhumed and laid
bare to the cold light of the stars.
Nevertheless this calm security was presently invaded by a sense of
stealthy life and motion. What had seemed a fixed shadow suddenly
detached itself from the deck, and began to slip stanchion by stanchion
along the bulwarks toward the companion way. At the cabin door it
halted and crouched motionless. Then rising, it glided forward with
the same staccato movement until opposite the slight elevation of the
forehatch. Suddenly it darted to the hatch, unfastened and lifted it
with a swift, familiar dexterity, and disappeared in the opening. But
as the moon shone upon its vanishing face, it revealed the whitening
eyes and teeth of the Lascar seaman.
Dropping to the lower deck lightly, he felt his way through the dark
passage between the partitions, evidently less familiar to him, halting
before each door to listen. Returning forward he reached the second
hatchway that had attracted Rosey's attention, and noiselessly unclosed
its fastenings. A penetrating smell of bilge arose from the opening.
Drawing a small bull's-eye lantern from his breast he lit it, and
unhesitatingly let himself down to the further depth. The moving flash
of his light revealed the recesses of the upper hold, the abyss of the
well amidships, and glanced from the shining backs of moving zig-zags
of rats that seemed to outline the shadowy beams and transoms.
Disregarding those curious spectators of his movements, he turned his
attention eagerly to the inner casings of the hold, that seemed in one
spot to have been strengthened by fresh timbers. Attacking this
stealthily with the aid of some tools hidden in his oil-skin clothing,
in the light of the lantern he bore a fanciful resemblance to the
predatory animals around him. The low continuous sound of rasping and
gnawing of timber which followed heightened the resemblance. At the
end of a few minutes he had succeeded in removing enough of the outer
planking to show that the entire filling of the casing between the
stanchions was composed of small boxes. Dragging out one of them with
feverish eagerness to the light, the Lascar forced it open. In the
rays of the bull's-eye, a wedged mass of discolored coins showed with a
lurid glow. The story of the Pontiac was true--the treasure was there!
But Mr. Sleight had overlooked the logical effect of this discovery on
the natural villainy of his tool. In the very moment of his triumphant
execution of his patron's suggestions the idea of keeping the treasure
to himself flashed upon his mind. HE had discovered it--why should he
give it up to anybody? HE had run all the risks; if he were detected
at that moment, who would believe that his purpose there at midnight
was only to satisfy some one else that the treasure was still intact?
No. The circumstances were propitious; he would get the treasure out
of the ship at once, drop it over her side, hastily conceal it in the
nearest lot adjacent, and take it away at his convenience.--Who would
be the wiser for it?
But it was necessary to reconnoitre first. He knew that the loft
overhead was empty. He knew that it communicated with the alley, for
he had tried the door that morning. He would convey the treasure
there, and drop it into the alley. The boxes were heavy. Each one
would require a separate journey to the ship's side, but he would at
least secure something if he were interrupted. He stripped the casing,
and gathered the boxes together in a pile.
Ah, yes, it was funny too that he--the Lascar hound--the d----d
nigger--should get what bigger and bullier men than he had died for!
The mate's blood was on those boxes, if the salt water had not washed
it out. It was a hell of a fight when they dragged the captain--Oh,
what was that? Was it the splash of a rat in the bilge, or what?
A superstitious terror had begun to seize him at the thought of blood.
The stifling hold seemed again filled with struggling figures he had
known; the air thick with cries and blasphemies that he had forgotten.
He rose to his feet, and running quickly to the hatchway, leaped to the
deck above. All was quiet. The door leading to the empty loft yielded
to his touch. He entered, and, gliding through, unbarred and opened
the door that gave upon the alley. The cold air and moonlight flowed
in silently; the way of escape was clear. Bah! He would go back for
the treasure.
He had reached the passage when the door he had just opened was
suddenly darkened. Turning rapidly, he was conscious of a gaunt
figure, grotesque, silent, and erect, looming on the threshold between
him and the sky. Hidden in the shadow, he made a stealthy step towards
it, with an iron wrench in his uplifted hand. But the next moment his
eyes dilated with superstitious horror; the iron fell from this hand,
and with a scream, like a frightened animal, he turned and fled into
the passage. In the first access of his blind terror he tried to reach
the deck above through the forehatch, but was stopped by the sound of a
heavy tread overhead. The immediate fear of detection now overcame his
superstition; he would have even faced the apparition again to escape
through the loft; but, before he could return there, other footsteps
approached rapidly from the end of the passage he would have to
traverse. There was but one chance of escape left now--the forehold he
had just quitted. He might hide there until the alarm was over. He
glided back to the hatch, lifted it, and it closed softly over his head
as the upper hatch was simultaneously raised, and the small round eyes
of Abner Nott peered down upon it. The other footsteps proved to be
Renshaw's but, attracted by the open door of the loft, he turned aside
and entered. As soon as he disappeared Mr. Nott cautiously dropped
through the opening to the deck below, and, going to the other hatch
through which the Lascar had vanished, deliberately refastened it. In
a few moments Renshaw returned with a light, and found the old man
sitting on the hatch.
"The loft door was open," said Renshaw. "There's little doubt whoever
was here escaped that way."
"Surely," said Nott. There was a peculiar look of Machiavellian
sagacity in his face which irritated Renshaw.
"Then you're sure it was Ferrieres you saw pass by your window before
you called me?" he asked.
Nott nodded his head with an expression of infinite profundity.
"But you say he was going FROM the ship. Then it could not have been
he who made the noise we heard down here."
"Mebbee no, and mebbee yes," returned Nott, cautiously. "But if he was
already concealed inside the ship, as that open door, which you say you
barred from the inside, would indicate, what the devil did he want with
this?" said Renshaw, producing the monkey-wrench he had picked up.
Mr. Nott examined the tool carefully, and shook his head with momentous
significance. Nevertheless, his eyes wandered to the hatch on which he
was seated.
"Did you find anything disturbed THERE?" said Renshaw, following the
direction of his eye. "Was that hatch fastened as it is now?"
"It was," said Nott, calmly. "But ye wouldn't mind fetchin' me a
hammer and some o' them big nails from the locker, would yer, while I
hang round here just so ez to make sure against another attack."
Renshaw complied with his request; but as Nott proceeded to gravely
nail down the fastenings of the hatch, he turned impatiently away to
complete his examination of the ship. The doors of the other lofts and
their fastenings appeared secure and undisturbed. Yet it was
undeniable that a felonious entrance had been made, but by whom or for
what purpose still remained uncertain. Even now, Renshaw found it
difficult to accept Nott's theory that de Ferrieres was the aggressor
and Rosey the object, nor could he justify his own suspicion that the
Lascar had obtained a surreptitious entrance under Sleight's
directions. With a feeling that if Rosey had been present he would
have confessed all, and demanded from her an equal confidence, he began
to hate his feeble, purposeless, and inefficient alliance with her
father, who believed but dare not tax his daughter with complicity in
this outrage. What could be done with a man whose only idea of action
at such a moment was to nail up an undisturbed entrance in his invaded
house! He was so preoccupied with these thoughts that when Nott
rejoined him in the cabin he scarcely heeded his presence, and was
entirely oblivious of the furtive looks which the old man from time to
time cast upon his face.
"I reckon ye wouldn't mind," broke in Nott, suddenly, "ef I asked a
favor of ye, Mr. Renshaw. Mebbee ye'll allow it's askin' too much in
the matter of expense; mebbee ye'll allow it's askin' too much in the
matter o' time. But I kalkilate to pay all the expense, and if you'd
let me know what yer vally yer time at, I reckon I could stand that.
What I'd be askin' is this. Would ye mind takin' a letter from me to
Rosey, and bringin' back an answer?"
Renshaw stared speechlessly at this absurd realization of his wish of a
moment before. "I don't think I understand you," he stammered.
"P'r'aps not," returned Nott, with great gravity. "But that's not so
much matter to you ez your time and expenses."
"I meant I should be glad to go if I can be of any service to you,"
said Renshaw, hastily.
"You kin ketch the seven o'clock boat this morning, and you'll reach
San Rafael at ten--"
"But I thought Miss Rosey went to Petaluma," interrupted Renshaw
quickly.
Nott regarded him with an expression of patronizing superiority.
"That's what we ladled out to the public gin'rally, and to Ferrers and
his gang in partickler. We SAID Petalumey, but if you go to Madrono
Cottage, San Rafael, you'll find Rosey thar."
If Mr. Renshaw required anything more to convince him of the necessity
of coming to some understanding with Rosey at once it would have been
this last evidence of her father's utterly dark and supremely
inscrutable designs. He assented quickly, and Nott handed him a note.
"Ye'll be partickler to give this inter her own hands, and wait for an
answer," said Nott gravely.
Resisting the proposition to enter then and there into an elaborate
calculation of the value of his time and the expenses of the trip,
Renshaw found himself at seven o'clock on the San Rafael boat. Brief as
was the journey it gave him time to reflect upon his coming interview
with Rosey. He had resolved to begin by confessing all; the attempt of
last night had released him from any sense of duty to Sleight.
Besides, he did not doubt that Nott's letter contained some reference
to this affair only known to Nott's dark and tortuous intelligence.