closer examination, proved to be the cover of a book. The rocks rolled
right and left, and as the flag-staff, deprived of its support, tottered
and fell, the trove was dragged forth and handed to the captain. While the
ground jarred with occasional tremors and the mountain puffed forth its
vaporous threats, he and the surgeon, seated on a rock, gave themselves
with complete absorption to the reading.
III
THE CACHE
Outwardly the book accorded ill with its surroundings. In that place of
desolation and death, it typified the petty neatness of office processes.
Properly placed, it should have been found on a desk, with pens, rulers,
and other paraphernalia forming exact angles or parallels to it. It was a
quarto, bound in marbled paper, with black leather over the hinges. No
external label suggested its ownership or uses, but through one corner,
blackened and formidable in its contrast to the peaceful purposes of the
volume, a hole had been bored. The agency of perforation was obvious. A
bullet had made it.
"Seen something of life, I reckon," said Trendon, as the captain turned
the volume about slowly in his hands.
"And of death," returned Captain Parkinson solemnly. "Do you know,
Trendon, I almost dread to open this."
"Pshaw!" returned the other. "What is it to us?"
He threw the cover back. Neatly lettered on the inside, in the fine and
slightly angular writing characteristic of the Teutonic scholar, was the
legend:
Karl Augustus Schermerhorn,
1409-1/2 Spruce Street,
Philadelphia, Pa.
[Illustration: With a strangled cry the sailor cast the shirt from him]
The opposite page was blank. Captain Parkinson turned half a dozen leaves.
"German!" he cried, in a note of disappointment, "Can you read German
script?"
"After a fashion," replied the other. "Let's see. _Es wonnte sechs--und--
dreissig unterjacke_," he read. "Why, blast it, was the man running a
haberdashery? What have three dozen undershirts to do with this?"
"A memorandum for outfitting, probably," suggested the captain. "Try
here."
"Chemical formulae," said Trendon. "Pages of 'em. The devil! Can't make a
thing of it."
"Well, here's something in English."
"Good," said the other. "_By combining the hyper-sulphate of iridium with
the fumes arising from oxide of copper heated to 1000 C. and combining
with picric acid in the proportions described in formula x 18, a reaction,
the nature of which I have not fully determined, follows. This must be
performed with extreme care owing to the unstable nature of the benzene
compounds._"
"Picric acid? Benzene compounds? Those are high explosives," said Captain
Parkinson. "We should have Barnett go over this."
"Here's a name under the formula. _Dr. A. Mardenter, Ann Arbor, Mich_.
That explains its being in English. Probably copied from a letter."
"This must have been one of the experiments in the valley that Slade told
us of," said the captain, thoughtfully. "Why, see here," he cried, with
something like exultation. "That's what Dr. Schermerhorn was doing here.
He has the clue to some explosive so terrific that he goes far out of the
world to experiment with its manufacture. For companions he chooses a gang
of cutthroats that the world would never miss in case anything went wrong.
Possibly it was some trial of the finished product that started the
eruption, even. Do you see?"
"Don't explain enough," grunted Trendon. "Deserted ship. Billy Edwards.
Mysterious lights. Slade and his story. Any explosives in those? Good
enough, far as it goes. Don't go far enough."
"It certainly leaves gaps," admitted the other.
He turned over a few more pages.
"Formulas, formulas, formulas. What's this? Here are some marginal
annotations."
"Unbehasslich," read Trendon. "Let's see. That means 'highly
unsatisfactory,' or words to that effect. Hi! Here's where the old man
loses his temper. Listen: _'May the devil take Carroll and Crum for
careless'_--h'm--well, _'pig-dogs.'_ Now, where do Carroll and Crum come
in?"
"They're a firm of analytical chemists in Washington," said the captain.
"When I was on the ordnance board I used to get their circulars."
"Fits in. What? More English? Worse than the German, this is."
The writing, beginning evenly enough at the top of a page, ran along for a
line or two, then fell, sprawling in huge, ragged characters the full
length. Trendon stumbled among them, indignantly.
"_June 1, 1904_," he read. "_It is done. Triumph_. (German word.) _Eureka.
Es ist gefillt. From the_ (can't make out that word) _of the
inspiration--god-like power--solution of the world-problems_. Why, the
old fool is crazy! And his writing is crazier. Can't make head or tail of
it."
The captain turned several more pages. They were blank. "At any rate, it
seems to be the end," he said.
"I should hope so," returned the other, disgustedly.
He took the book on his knees, fluttering the leaves between thumb and
finger. Suddenly he checked, cast back, and threw the book wide open.
"Here beginneth a new chapter," said he, quietly.
No imaginable chirography could have struck the eye with more of contrast
to the professor's small and nervous hand. Large, rounded, and rambling,
it filled the page with few and careless words.
_June 2, 1904. On this date I find myself sole occupant and absolute
monarch of this valuable island. This morning I was a member of a
community, interesting if not precisely peaceful. To-night I am the last
leaf. 'All his lovely companions are faded and gone,' the sprightly
Solomon, the psychic Nigger, the amiable Thrackles, the cheerful Perdosa,
the genial Pulz, and the high-minded Eagen. Undoubtedly the social
atmosphere has cleared; moreover, I am for the first time in my life a
landed proprietor. Item: several square miles of grass land; item: several
dozen head of sheep; item: a cove full of fish; item: a handsomely
decorated cave; item: a sportive though somewhat unruly volcano. At times,
it may be, I shall feel the lack of company. The seagulls alone are not
distrustful of me. Undoubtedly the seagull is an estimable creature, but
he leaves something to be desired in the way of companionship. Hence this
diary, the inevitable refuge of the empty-minded. Materially, I shall do
well enough, though I face one tragic circumstance. My cigarette material,
I find, is short. Upon counting up--"_
"Damn his cigarettes!" cried the surgeon. "This must be Darrow. Finicky
beast! Let's see if it's signed."
He whirled the leaves over to the last sheet, glanced at it, and sprang to
his feet. There, sprawled in tremulous characters, as by a hand shaken
with agony or terror, was written:
_Look for me in the cave.
Percy Darrow._
The bullet hole in the corner furnished a sinister period to the
signature.
Trendon handed the ledger back to the captain, who took one quick look,
closed it, and handed it to Congdon.
"Wrap that up and carry it carefully," he said.
"Aye, aye, sir," said the coxswain, swathing it in his jacket and tucking
it under his arm.
"Now to find that cave," said Captain Parkinson to the surgeon.
"The cave in the cliff, of course," said Trendon. "Noticed it coming in,
you know."
"Where?"
"On the north shore, about a mile to the east of here."
"Then we'll cut directly across."
"Beg your pardon, sir," put in Congdon, "but I don't think we can make it
from this side, sir."
"Why not?"
"No beach, sir, and the cliff's like the side of a ship. Looks to be deep
water right into the cave's mouth."
"Back to the boat, then. Bring that flag along."
The descent was swift, at times reckless, but the party embarked without
accident. Soon they were forging through the water at racing speed, the
boat leaping to the impulsion of the sailorman's strongest motives,
curiosity and the hope of saving a life.
IV
THE TWIN SLABS
Within half an hour the gig had reached the mouth of the cave. As the
coxswain had predicted, the seas ran into the lofty entrance. Elsewhere
the surf fell whitely, but through the arch the waves rolled unbroken into
a heavy stillness. Only as the boat hovered for a moment at the face of
the cliff could the exploring party hear, far within, the hollow boom that
told of breakers on a distant, subterranean beach.
"Run her in easy," came the captain's order. "Keep a sharp lookout for
hidden rocks."
To the whispering plash of the oars they moved from sunlight into
twilight, from twilight into darkness. Of a sudden the oars jerked
convulsively. A great roar had broken upon the ears of the sailors; the
invisible roof above them, the water heaving beneath them, the walls that
hemmed them in, called, with a multiplication of resonance, upon the name
of Darrow. The boat quivered with the start of its occupants. Then one or
two laughed weakly as they realised that what they had heard was no
supernatural voice. It was the captain hailing for the marooned man.
No vocal answer came. But an indeterminable space away they could hear a
low splash followed by a second and a third. Something coughed weakly in
front and to the right. Trendon's hand went to his revolver. The men sat,
stiffened. One of them swore, in a whisper, and the oath came back upon
them, echoing the name of the Saviour in hideous sibilance.
"Silence in the boat," said the captain, in such buoyant tones that the
men braced themselves against the expected peril.
"Light the lantern and pass it to me," came the order. "Keep below the
gunwale, men."
As the match spluttered: "Do you see something, a few rods to port?" asked
the captain in Trendon's ear.
"Pair of green lights," said Trendon. "Eyes. _Seals!_"
"_Seals! Seals! Seals_!" shouted the walls, for the surgeon had suddenly
released his voice. And as the mockery boomed, the green lights
disappeared and there was more splashing from the distance. The crew sat
up again.
The lantern spread its radiance. It was reflected from battlements of
fairy beauty. Everywhere the walls were set, as with gems, in broad wales
of varied and vivid hues. Dazzled at first, the explorers soon were able
to discern the general nature of the subterranean world which they had
entered. In most places the walls rose sheer and unscaleable from the
water. In others, turretted rocks thrust their gleaming crags upward. Over
to starboard a little beach shone with Quaker greyness in that spectacular
display. The end of the cavern was still beyond the area of light.
"Must have been a swimmer to get in here," commented Trendon, glancing at
the walls.
"Unless he had a boat," said the captain. "But why doesn't he answer?"
"Better try again. No telling how much more there is of this."
The surgeon raised his ponderous bellow, and the cave roared again with
the summons. Silence, formidable and unbroken, succeeded.
"House to house search is now in order," he said. "Must be in here
somewhere--unless the seals got him."
Cautiously the boat moved forward. Once she grazed on a half submerged
rock. Again a tiny islet loomed before her. Scattered bones glistened on
the rocky shore, but they were not human relics. Occasional beaches
tempted a landing, but all of these led back to precipitous cliffs except
one, from the side of which opened two small caves. Into the first the
lantern cast its glare, revealing emptiness, for the arch was wide and the
cave shallow. The entrance to the other was so narrow as to send a visitor
to his knees. But inside it seemed to open out. Moreover, there were fish
bones at the entrance. The captain, the surgeon, and Congdon, the
coxswain, landed. Captain Parkinson reached the spot first. Stooping, he
thrust his head in at the orifice. A sharp exclamation broke from him. He
rose to his feet, turning a contorted face to the others.
"Poisonous," he cried.
"More volcano," said Trendon. He bent to the black hole and sniffed
cautiously.
"I'll go in, sir," volunteered Congdon. "I've had fire-practice."
"My business," said Trendon, briefly. "Decomposition; unpleasant, but not
dangerous."
Pushing the lantern before him, he wormed his way until the light was
blotted out. Presently it shone forth from the funnel, showing that the
explorer had reached the inner open space. Captain Parkinson dropped down
and peered in, but the evil odour was too much for him. He retired,
gagging and coughing. Trendon was gone for what seemed an interminable
time. His superior officer fidgeted uneasily. At last he could stand it no
longer.
"Dr. Trendon, are you all right?" he shouted.
"Yup," answered a choked voice. "Cubbing oud dow."
Again the funnel was darkened. A pair of feet appeared; then the surgeon's
chunky trunk, his head, and the lantern. Once, twice, and thrice he
inhaled deeply.
"Phew!" he gasped. "Thought I was tough, but--Phee-ee-ee-ew!"
"Did you find--"
"No, sir. Not Darrow. Only a poor devil of a seal that crawled in there to
die."
The exploration continued. Half a mile, as they estimated, from the open,
they reached a narrow beach, shut off by a perpendicular wall of rock.
Skirting this, they returned on the other side, minutely examining every
possible crevice. When they again reached the light of day, they had
arrived at the certain conclusion that no living man was within those
walls.
"Would a corpse rise to the surface soon in waters such as these, Dr.
Trendon?" asked the captain.
"Might, sir. Might not. No telling that."
The captain ruminated. Then he beat his fist on his knee.
"The other cave!"
"What other cave?" asked the surgeon.
"The cave where they killed the seals."
"Surely!" exclaimed Trendon. "Wait, though. Didn't Slade say it was
between here and the point?"
"Yes. Beyond the small beach."
"No cave there," declared the surgeon positively.
"There must be. Congdon, did you see an opening anywhere in the cliff as
we came along?"
"No, sir. This is the only one, sir."
"We'll see about that," said the captain, grimly. "Head her about. Skirt
the shore as near the breakers as you safely can."
The gig retraced its journey.
"There's the beach, as Slade described it," said Captain Parkinson, as
they came abreast of the little reach of sand.
"And what are those two bird-roosts on it?" asked Trendon. "See 'em? Dead
against that patch of shore-weed."
"Bits of wreckage fixed in the sand."
"Don't think so, sir. Too well matched."
"We have no time to settle the matter now," said the captain impatiently.
"We must find that cave, if it is to be found."
Hovering just outside the final drag of the surf, under the skilful
guidance of Congdon, the boat moved slowly along the line of beach to the
line of cliff. All was open as the day. The blazing sun picked out each
detail of jut and hollow. Evidently the poisonous vapours from the volcano
had not spread their blight here, for the face of the precipice was bright
with many flowers. So close in moved the boat that its occupants could
even see butterflies fluttering above the bloom. But that which their
eager eyes sought was still denied them. No opening offered in that
smiling cliff-side. Not by so much as would admit a terrier did the mass
of rock and rubble gape.
"And Slade described the cave as big enough to ram the _Wolverine_ into,"
muttered Trendon.
Up to the point of the headland, and back, passed the boat. Blank
disappointment was the result.
"What is your opinion now, Dr. Trendon?" asked the captain of the older
man.
"Don't know, sir," answered the surgeon hopelessly. "Looks as if the cave
might have been a hallucination."
"I shall have something to say to Mr. Slade on our return," said the
captain crisply. "If the cave was an hallucination, as you suggest, the
seal-murder was fiction."
"Looks so," agreed the other.
"And the murder of the captain. How about that?"
"And the mutiny of the men," added the surgeon.
"And the killing of the doctor. Your patient seems to be a romantic
genius."
"And the escape of Darrow. Hold hard," quoth Trendon. "Darrow's no
romance. Nothing fictional about the flag and ledger."
"True enough," said the captain, and fell to consideration.
"Anyway," said Trendon vigorously, "I'd like to have a look at those bird-
roosts. Mighty like signposts, to my mind."
"Very well," said the captain. "It'll cost us only a wetting. Run her in,
Congdon."
With all the coxswain's skill, and the oarsmen's technique, the passage of
the surf was a lively one, and little driblets of water marked the trail
of the officers as they shuffled up the beach.
The two slabs stood less than fifty yards beyond high water tide. Nearing
them, the visitors saw that each marked a mound, but not until they were
close up could they read the neat carving on the first. It ran as follows:
_Here lies_
SOLOMON ANDERSON
_alias_
HANDY SOLOMON
_who murdered his employer,
his captain, and his shipmates,
and was found, dead
of his deserts, on these shores,
June 5, 1904.
This slab is erected as a
memento of admiring esteem
by
the last of his victims.
"And you can kiss the
Book on that."_
"Percy Darrow _fecit_," said the surgeon. "You can kiss the Book on
_that_, too."
"Then Slade was telling the truth!"
"Apparently. Seems good corroboration."
The captain turned to the other mound. Its slab was carved by the same
hand.
_Sacred to the memory of an
Ensign of the U. S. Navy,
whose body, washed upon this
coast, is here buried with all
reverence, by strange hands;
whose soul may God rest.
"The seas shall sing his
requiem." June the Sixth,
MXMIV._
"Billy Edwards," said the captain, very low.
He uncovered. The surgeon did likewise. So, for a space, they stood with
bared heads between the twin graves.
V
THE PINWHEEL VOLCANO
The surgeon spoke first.
"Another point," said he. "Darrow was alive within a few days."
Captain Parkinson turned slowly away from the grave. "You are right," he
said, with an effort. "Our business is with the living now. The dead must
wait."
"Hide and seek," growled Trendon. "If he's here why don't he show
himself?"
The other shook his head.
"Place is all trampled up with his footprints," said Trendon. "He's
plodded back and forth like a prisoner in a cell."
"The ledger," said the captain. "I'd forgotten it. That grave drove
everything else out of my mind."
"Bring the book here," called Trendon.
Congdon unwrapped it from his jacket and handed it to him. The sailors
cast curious glances at the two headstones.
"Mount guard over Mr. Edwards's grave," commanded the captain.
The coxswain saluted and gave an order. One of the sailors stepped forward
to the first mound.
"Not that one," rasped the officer. "The other."
The man saluted and moved on.
"With your permission, sir," said Trendon.
On a nod from his superior officer he opened the ledger and took up
Darrow's record.
"Here it is. Entry of June 3d."
"_Everything lovely. Schooner lost to sight. Query--to memory dear? Not
exactly. Though I shouldn't mind having her under orders for a few days.
Queer glow in the sky last night: if they've been investigating they may
have got what's coming to them. Volcano exhibiting fits of temper. Spouted
out considerable fire about nine o'clock. Quite spectacular, but no harm
done. Can foresee short rations of tobacco. Lava in valley still too hot
for comfort. No sign of Dr. Schermerhorn. Still sleep on beach_.
"Not much there," sniffed Trendon. "Go on," said the captain.
"_June 3. Evening. Thick and squally weather again. Local atmospheric
conditions seem upset. Volcano still leading strenuous life. Climbed the
headland this afternoon. Wind very shifty. Got an occasional whiff of
volcanic output. One in particular would have sent a skunk to the camphor
bottle. No living on the headland. Will explore cave to-morrow with a view
to domicile. Have come down to an allowance of seven cigarettes per diem.
"June 4. Explored cave to-day. Full of dead seals. Not only dead, but all
bitten and cut to pieces. Must have been lively doings in Seal-Town. Not
much choice between air in the cave and vapours from the volcano. Barring
seals, everything suitable for light housekeeping, such as mine. Undertook
to clean house. Dragged late lamented out into the water. Some sank and
were swept away by the sea-puss. Others, I regret to say, floated. Found
trickle of fresh water in depth of cave, and little sand-ledge to sleep
on. So far, so good: we may be 'appy yet. If only I had my cigarette
supply. Once heard a botanist say that leaves of the white shore-willow
made fair substitute for tobacco. Fair substitute for nux vomica! Would
like to interview said botanist_.
"The fellow is a tobacco maniac," growled Trendon, feeling in his breast
pocket. "The devil," he cried, bringing forth an empty hand.
Silently the captain handed him a cigar. "Thank you, sir," he said,
lighted it, and continued reading.
"_June 5. Had a caller to-day. Climbed the headland this morning. Found
volcano taking a day off. Looking for sign of _Laughing Lass_, noticed
something heliographing to me from the waves beyond the reef. Seemed to be
metal. I guessed a tin can. Caught in the swirl, it rounded the cape, and
I came down to the shore to meet it. Halfway down the cliff I had a better
view. I saw it was not a tin can. There was a dark body under it, which
the waves were tossing about, and as the metal moved with the body, it
glinted in the sun. Suddenly it was borne in upon me that an arm was doing
the signalling, waving to me with a sprightly, even a jocular
friendliness. Then I saw what it really was. It was Handy Solomon and his
steel hook. He was riding quite high. Every now and again he would bow and
wave. He grounded gently on the sand beach. I planted him promptly. First,
however, I removed a bag of tobacco from his pocket. Poor stuff, and water
soaked, but still tobacco. Spent a quiet afternoon carving a headstone for
the dear departed. Pity it were that virtues so shining should be
uncommemorated. Idle as the speculation is, I wonder who my next visitor
will be. Thrackles, I hope. Evidently some of them have been playing the
part of Pandora. Spent last night in the cave. Air quite fresh.
"June 6. Saw the glow again last night."_
The surgeon paused in his reading. "That would be the night of the 5th:
the night before we picked her up empty."
"Yes," agreed Captain Parkinson. "That was the night Billy Edwards--Go
on."
"_Saw the glow again last night. Don't understand it. Once should have
been enough for them. This matter of hoarding tobacco may be a sad error.
If Old Spitfire keeps on the way she has to-day I shan't need much more.
It would be a raw jest to be burned or swallowed up with a month's supply
of unsmoked cigarettes on one. Cave getting shaky. Still, I think I'll
stick there. As between being burned alive and buried alive, I'm for the
respectable and time honoured fashion of interment. Bombardment was mostly
to the east to-day, but no telling when it may shift.
"June 7. This morning I found a body rolling in the surf. It was the body
of a young man, large and strongly built, dressed in the uniform of an
ensign of our navy. Surely a strange visitor to these shores! There was no
mark of identification upon him except a cigarette case graven with an
undecipherable monogram in Tiffany's most illegible style of arrow-headed
inscription. This I buried with him, and staked the grave with a
headboard. An officer and a gentleman, a youth of friendly ways and kindly
living, if one may judge by the face of the dead; and he comes by the same
end to the same goal as Handy Solomon. Why not? And why should one
philosophise in a book that will never be read? Hold on! Perhaps--just
perhaps--it may be read. The officer was not long dead. Ensigns of the U.
S. navy do not wander about untraversed waters alone. There must be a
warship somewhere in the vicinity. But why, then, an unburied officer
floating on the ocean? I will smoke upon this, luxuriously and
plentifully. (Later.) No use. I can't solve it. But one thing I do. I put
up a signal pole on the headland and cache this record under it this
afternoon. From day to day, with the kindly permission of the volcano, I
will add to it.... Bad doings by Old Spitfire. The cloud is coming down on
me. Also seems to be moving along the cliff. I will retire hastily to my
private estate in the cave_.
"That's all, except the scrawl on the last page," said Trendon. "Some
action of the volcano scared him off. He just had time to scrawl that last
message and drop the book into the cache. The question is, did he get back
alive?"
"I doubt it," said the captain. "We will search the headland for his
body."
"But the cave," insisted the surgeon. "We ought to have found some sign of
him there."
"Slade is the solution," said the captain. "We must ask him."