none. On Slade's showing, Handy Solomon and his worthy associates thought
they had a chest full of riches when they got the doctor's treasure;
believed they owned the machinery for making diamonds or gold or what-not
of ready-to-hand wealth. It's fair to assume a certain eagerness on their
part. Disturbed weather keeps them busy until they're well out from the
island. Then to the chest. Opening it isn't so easy: I had the key, you
know." He brought a curious and delicately wrought skeleton from his
pocket. "Tipped with platinum," he observed. "Rather a gem of a key, I
think. You see, there must have been some action, even through the
keyhole, or he wouldn't have used a metal of this kind. But the crew was
rich in certain qualities, it seems, which I failed, stupidly, to
recognise in my acquaintance with them. Both Pulz and Perdosa appear to
have been handy men where locks were concerned. First Pulz sneaks down and
has his turn at the chest. He gets it open. Small profit for him in that:
the next we know of him he is scandalising Handy Solomon by having a fit
on the deck."
"That is what I couldn't figure out to save my life," said Slade eagerly.
"If you recollect, I told you of the Professor's plunge in the cold
spring, in a sort of paroxysm, one day," said Darrow. "That was the
physiological action of the celestium. At other times, I have seen him
come out and deliberately roll in the creek, head under. Once he explained
that the medium he worked in caused a kind of uncontrollable longing for
water; something having none of the qualities of burning or thirst, but an
irresistible temporary mania. It worried him a good deal; he didn't
understand it. That, then, was what ailed Pulz. When he opened the chest
there was, as I surmise, a trifling quantity of this stuff lying in the
inner lid. It wasn't the celestium itself, as I imagine, but a sort of by-
product with the physiological and radiant effects of the real thing, and
it had been set there on guard, a discouragement to the spirit of
investigation, as it were. So, when the top was lifted, our little
guardian gets in its work, producing the light phenomenon that so puzzled
Slade, and inspiring Pulz with a passion for the rolling wave, which is
only interrupted by Handy Solomon's tackling him. As he fled he must have
pulled down the cover."
"He did," said Slade. "I heard the clang. But I saw the radiance on the
clouds. And the whole thickness of a solid oak deck was in between the sky
and the chest."
"Oh, a little thing like an oak deck wouldn't interrupt the kind of rays
the doctor used. He had his own method of screening, you understand.
However, this inconsiderable guardian affair must have used itself up,
which true celestium wouldn't have done. So when Perdosa sets his genius
for lock-picking to the task, the inner box, full of the genuine article,
has no warning sign-post, so to speak. Everything's peaceful until they
raise the compound-filled hollow layer of the inner cover, which serves to
interrupt the action. Then comes the general exit and the superior
fireworks."
"That's when the rays ran through the ship," said Slade. "It seemed to
follow the deck-lines."
"The stuff had a strange affinity for tar," said Darrow. "I told you of
the circle of fire about Professor Schermerhorn's waist the day he gave me
such a scare. That was the celestium working on the tarred rope he wore
for a belt. It made a livid circle on his skin. Did I tell you of his
experiments with pitch? It doesn't matter. Where was I?"
"At the place where we all jumped," said Slade.
"Oh, yes. And you dove into the small boat, trying to reach the water."
"Wait a bit," said Barnett. "If that was the exhibition of radiance we
saw, it died out in a few minutes. How was that? Did they close the chest
before they ran?"
"Probably not," replied Darrow. "Slade spoke of Pulz taking to the maintop
and being shaken out by the sudden shock of a wave. That may have been a
volcanic billow. Whatever it was, it undoubtedly heeled the ship
sufficiently to bring down both lids, which were rather delicately
balanced."
"Yes, for Billy Edwards found the chest closed and locked," said Barnett.
"Of course; it was a spring lock. You sent Mr. Edwards and his men aboard.
No such experts as Pulz or Perdosa were in your crew. Consequently it took
longer to get the chest open. When at length the lid was raised, there was
a repetition of the tragedy. Mr. Edwards and his men leaped. Probably they
were paralysed almost before they struck the water. Your bos'n, whom Slade
picked up, was the only one who had time even to grab a life preserver
before the impulse toward water became irresistible. There was no element
of fright, you understand: no desertion of their post. They were dragged
as by the sweep of a tornado." Darrow spoke direct to Captain Parkinson.
"If there is any feeling among you other than sorrow for their death, it
is unjust and unworthy."
"Thank you, Mr. Darrow," returned the captain quietly.
"We found the chest closed again when the empty ship came back," observed
Barnett.
"Being masterless, the schooner began to yaw," continued Darrow. "The
first time she came about would have heeled her enough to shut the chest.
Now came the turn of your other men."
"Ives and McGuire," said the Captain, as Darrow paused.
"The glow came again that night, and the next day we picked up Slade,"
said Barnett.
"You know what the glow meant for your companions," said Darrow.
"But the ship. The _Laughing Lass_, man. She's vanished. No one has seen
her since."
"You are wrong there," said Darrow. "I have seen her."
In a common impulse the little circle leaned to him.
"Yes, I have seen her. I wish I had not. Let me bring my story back to the
cave on the island. After the volcanic gases had driven me to the refuge,
I sat near the mouth of the cave looking out into the darkness. That was
the night of the 7th, the night you saw the last glow. It was very dark,
except for occasional bursts of fire from the crater. Judge of my
incredulous amazement when, in an access of this illumination, I saw
plainly a schooner hardly a mile off shore, coming in under bare poles."
"Under bare poles?" cried Slade.
"The halliards must have disintegrated from some slow action of the
celestium. It could be destructive: terrifically destructive. You shall
judge. There was the schooner, naked as your hand. Possibly I might have
thought it a hallucination but for what came after. Darkness fell again. I
supposed then that Handy Solomon's crew were managing--or mismanaging--the
_Laughing Lass_ without the aid of their leader, whom I had satisfactorily
buried. I hoped they would come ashore on the rocks. Yes I was
vengeful ... then.
"Of a sudden there sprang from the darkness a ship of light. You have all
seen those great electric effects at expositions. Someone touches a
button ... you know. It was like that. Only that the piercingly brilliant
jewelled wonder of a ship was set in the midst of a swirl of vari-coloured
radiance such as I can't begin to describe. You saw it from a distance.
Imagine what it was, coming close upon you that way--dead on, out of the
night. A living glory, a living terror...."
His voice sank. With a shaking hand he fumbled amid his cigarette papers.
"It came on. A human figure, glowing like a diamond ablaze, leaped out
from it; another shot down from the foremast. I don't know how many I saw
go. It was like a theatric effect, unreal, unconvincing, incredible. The
end fitted it."
Darrow's eye roved. It fell upon a quaintly modelled ship, hung above the
door.
"What's that?" he cried.
"Fool thing some Malay gave me," grunted Trendon. "Pretended to be
grateful because I cut his foot off. No good. Go on with the story."
"No good? You don't care what happens to it?"
"Meant to heave it overboard before now," growled the other.
Someone handed it down to Darrow.
"If I had something to hold enough water," muttered he, "I'd like to float
it. I'd like to see for myself how it worked out. I'd like to see that
devil-work in action."
He spoke feverishly.
"Boy, fill the portable rubber tub in Mr. Forsythe's cabin and bring it
here," ordered the captain.
"That will do." said Darrow, recovering himself.
He floated the model in the tub.
"Now, I don't know how this will come out," he said. "Nor do I know why
the _Laughing Lass_ met her fate under Ives and McGuire, and not before.
Perhaps the chest lay open longer ... long enough, anyway. We'll try it."
From his pocket he took a curious small phial.
"Is that what Dr. Schermerhorn gave you?" asked Slade.
"Yes," said Darrow. He set it carefully inside the little model and
slipped a lever. Slade quietly turned down the light.
A faint glow shot up. It grew bright and eddied in lovely, variant
colours. As if set to a powder train, it ran through the ship. The pale
faces of the spectators shone ghastly in its radiance. From someone burst
a sudden gasp.
"There is not enough for danger," said Darrow, quietly.
"As a point of interest," grunted Trendon.
Everyone looked at his outstretched hand. A little pocket compass lay in
the palm. The needle spun madly, projecting blue, vivid sparklings.
"My God!" cried Slade, and covered his eyes for a moment.
He snatched away his hands as a suppressed cry went up from the others.
"As I expected," said Darrow quietly.
The little craft opened out; it disintegrated. All that radiance dissolved
and with its going the substance upon which it shaped itself vanished. The
last glow showed a formless pulp, spreading upon the water.
"So passed the _Laughing Lass_," said Darrow solemnly.
"And the chest is at the bottom of the sea," said Barnett.
"Good place for it," muttered Trendon.
"In all probability it closed as the ship dissolved around it," said
Darrow. "Otherwise we should see the effects in the water."
"It might be recovered," cried Slade, excitedly.
"Could you chart it, Darrow? Think of the possibilities--"
"Let it lie," said the captain. "Has it not cost enough? Let it lie."
The water in the tub fumed and sparkled faintly and was still. Darkness
fell, except where Darrow's cigarette point glowed and faded.
THE END