I lost no time in getting around at once to the office of the leading
newspaper, the Colonial News. The editor, Kenmore, proved to be a
former New York reporter who had come out in answer to an advertisement
by the proprietors of the paper.
"What's the big story here now?" I asked by way of preface, expecting
to find that colonial newspapermen were provincial.
"What's the big story?" repeated Kenmore, impatiently pushing aside a
long leader on native politics and regarding me thoughtfully. "Well,
I'm not superstitious, but a honeymoon spent trying to break into Davy
Jones's locker for sunken treasure--I guess that's a good story, isn't
it?"
I showed him my message and he smiled. "You see, I was right," he
exclaimed. "They're searching now at the Cay d'Or, the Golden Key, one
of the southernmost of the Bahamas, I suppose you would call it. I wish
I was like you. I'd like to get away from this political stuff long
enough to get the story."
He puffed absently on a fragrant native cigar. "I met them all when
they were here, before they started," he resumed, reminiscently. "It
was certainly a picturesque outfit--three college chums--one of them on
his honeymoon, and the couple chaperoning the bride's sister. There was
one of the college boys--a fellow named Gage--who fairly made news."
"How was that?" inquired Kennedy, who had accompanied me, full of zest
at the prospect of mixing in a story so romantic.
"Oh, I don't know that it was his fault--altogether," replied Kenmore.
"There's a young lady here in the city, the daughter of a pilot,
Dolores Guiteras. She had been a friend of some one in the expedition,
I believe. I suppose that's how Gage met her. I don't think either of
them really cared for each other. Perhaps she was a bit jealous of the
ladies of the party. I don't know anything much about it, only I
remember one night in the cafe of the Palace Hotel, I thought Gage and
another fellow would fight a duel--almost--until Everson dropped in and
patched the affair up and the next day his yacht left for Golden Key."
"I wish I'd been here to go with them," I considered. "How do you
suppose I'll be able to get out there, now?"
"You might be able to hire a tug," shrugged Kenmore. "The only one I
know is that of Captain Guiteras. He's the father of this Dolores I
told you about."
The suggestion seemed good, and after a few moments more of
conversation, absorbing what little Kenmore knew, we threaded our way
across the city to the home of the redoubtable Guiteras and his pretty
daughter.
Guiteras proved to be a man of about fifty, a sturdy, muscular fellow,
his face bronzed by the tropical sun.
I had scarcely broached the purpose of my visit when his restless brown
eyes seemed literally to flash. "No, sir," he exclaimed, emphatically.
"You cannot get me to go on any such expedition. Mr. Everson came here
first and tried to hire my tug. I wouldn't do it. No, sir--he had to
get one from Havana. Why, the whole thing is unlucky--hoodooed, you
call it. I will not touch it."
"But," I remonstrated, surprised at his unexpected vehemence, "I am not
asking you to join the expedition. We are only going to--"
"No, no," he interrupted. "I will not consider it. I--"
He cut short his remarks as a young woman, radiant in her
Latin-American beauty, opened the door, hesitated at sight of us, then
entered at a nod from him. We did not need to be told that this was the
Dolores whom Kenmore's rumor had credited with almost wrecking
Everson's expedition at the start. She was a striking type, her face,
full of animation and fire, betraying more of passion than of intellect.
A keen glance of inquiry from her wonderful eyes at her father was
followed by a momentary faraway look, and she remained silent, while
Guiteras paused, as if considering something.
"They say," he continued, slowly, his features drawn sharply, "that
there was loot of Mexican churches on that ship--the jewels of Our Lady
of the Rosary at Puebla.... That ship was cursed, I tell you!" he
added, scowling darkly.
"No one was lost on it, though," I ventured at random.
"I suppose you never heard the story of the Antilles?" he inquired,
turning swiftly toward me. Then, without stopping: "She had just sailed
from San Juan before she was wrecked--on her way to New York from Vera
Cruz with several hundred Mexican refugees. Treasure? Yes; perhaps
millions, money that belonged to wealthy families in Mexico--and some
that had the curse on it.
"You asked a moment ago if everybody wasn't rescued. Well, everybody
was rescued from the wreck except Captain Driggs. I don't know what
happened. No one knows. The fire had got into the engine-room and the
ship was sinking fast. Passengers saw him, pale, like a ghost, some
said. Others say there was blood streaming from his head. When the last
boat-load left they couldn't find him. They had to put off without him.
It was a miracle that no one else was lost."
"How did the fire start?" inquired Kennedy, much interested.
"No one knows that, either," answered Guiteras, shaking his head
slowly. "I think it must have been smoldering in the hold for hours
before it was discovered. Then the pumps either didn't work properly or
it had gained too great headway for them. I've heard many people talk
of it and of the treasure. No, sir, you wouldn't get me to touch it.
Maybe you'll call it superstition. But I won't have anything to do with
it. I wouldn't go with Mr. Everson and I won't go with you. Perhaps you
don't understand, but I can't help it."
Dolores had stood beside her father while he was speaking, but had said
nothing, though all the time she had been regarding us from beneath her
long black eyelashes. Arguments with the old pilot had no effect, but I
could not help feeling that somehow she was on our side, that whether
she shared his fears and prejudices, her heart was really somewhere
near the Key of Gold.
There seemed to be nothing for us to do but wait until some other way
turned up to get out to the expedition, or perhaps Dolores succeeded in
changing the captain's mind. We bowed ourselves out, not a little
puzzled by the enigma of the obdurate old man and his pretty daughter.
Try as I might among the busy shipping of the port, I could find no one
else willing at any reasonable price to change his plans to accommodate
us.
It was early the next morning that a young lady, very much perturbed,
called on us at our hotel, scarcely waiting even the introduction of
her plainly engraved card bearing the name, Miss Norma Sanford.
"Perhaps you know of my sister, Asta Sanford, Mrs. Orrin Everson," she
began, speaking very rapidly as if under stress. "We're down here on
Asta's honeymoon in Orrin's yacht, the Belle Aventure." Craig and I
exchanged glances, but she did not give us a chance to interrupt.
"It all seems so sudden, so terrible," she cried, in a burst of wild,
incoherent feeling. "Yesterday Bertram Traynor died, and we've put back
to San Juan with his body. I'm so worried for Orrin and my sister. I
heard you were here, Professor Kennedy, and I couldn't rest until I saw
you."
She was looking anxiously at Craig. I wondered whether she had heard of
our visit to the Guiterases and what she knew about that other woman.
"I don't quite understand," interposed Kennedy, with an effort to calm
her. "Why do you fear for your sister and Mr. Everson? Was there
something--suspicious--about the death of Mr. Traynor?"
"Indeed I think there was," she replied, quickly. "None of us has any
idea how it happened. Let me tell you about our party. You see, there
are three college chums, Orrin and two friends, Bertram Traynor and
Donald Gage. They were all on a cruise down here last winter, the year
after they graduated. It was in San Juan that Orrin first met Mr.
Dominick, who was the purser on the Antilles--you know, that big
steamer of the Gulf Line that was burned last year and went down with
seven million dollars aboard?"
Kennedy nodded to the implied query, and she went on: "Mr. Dominick was
among those saved, but Captain Driggs was lost with his ship. Mr.
Dominick had been trying to interest some one here in seeking the
treasure. They knew about where the Antilles went down, and the first
thing he wanted to do was to locate the wreck exactly. After that was
done of course Mr. Dominick knew about the location of the ship's
strong room and all that."
"That, of course, was common knowledge to any one interested enough to
find out, though," suggested Kennedy.
"Of course," she agreed. "Well, a few months later Orrin met Mr.
Dominick again, in New York. In the mean time he had been talking the
thing over with various people and had become acquainted with a man who
had once been a diver for the Interocean Marine Insurance Company--Owen
Kinsale. Anyhow, so the scheme grew. They incorporated a company, the
Deep Sea Engineering Company, to search for the treasure. That is how
Orrin started. They are using his yacht and Mr. Dominick is really in
command, though Mr. Kinsale has the actual technical knowledge."
She paused, but again her feelings seemed to get the better of her.
"Oh," she cried, "I've been afraid all along, lately. It's dangerous
work. And then, the stories that have been told of the ship and the
treasure. It seems ill-fated. Professor Kennedy," she appealed, "I wish
you would come and see us. We're not on the yacht just now. We came
ashore as soon as we arrived back, and Asta and Orrin are at the Palace
Hotel now. Perhaps Orrin can tell you more. If you can do nothing more
than quiet my fears--"
Her eyes finished the sentence. Norma Sanford was one of those girls
who impress you as quite capable of taking care of themselves. But in
the presence of the tragedy and a danger which she felt but could not
seem to define, she felt the need of outside assistance and did not
hesitate to ask it. Nor was Kennedy slow in responding. He seemed to
welcome a chance to help some one in distress.
We found Everson and his young wife at the hotel, quite different now
from the care-free adventurers who had set out only a few days before
to wrest a fortune from chance.
I had often seen portraits of the two Sanford sisters in the society
pages of the papers in the States and knew that the courtship of Orrin
Everson and Asta Sanford had been a true bit of modern romance.
Asta Everson was a unique type of girl. She had begun by running fast
motor cars and boats. That had not satisfied her, and she had taken up
aviation. Once, even, she had tried deep-sea diving herself. It seemed
as if she had been born with the spirit of adventure.
To win her, Everson had done about everything from Arctic exploration
one summer when he was in college to big-game hunting in Africa, and
mountain-climbing in the Andes. Odd though the romance might seem to
be, one could not help feeling that the young couple were splendidly
matched in their tastes. Each had that spirit of restlessness which, at
least, sent them out playing at pioneering.
Everson had organized the expedition quite as much in the spirit of
revolt against a prosaic life of society at home as for gain. It had
appealed strongly to Asta. She had insisted that nothing so much as a
treasure hunt would be appropriate for their wedding-trip and they had
agreed on the unconventional. Accordingly, she and her sister had
joined Everson and his party, Norma, though a year younger, being quite
like her sister in her taste for excitement.
"Of course, you understand," explained Everson, as he hurriedly tried
to give us some idea of what had happened, "we knew that the Antilles
had sunk somewhere off the Cay d'Or. It was first a question of
locating her. That was all that we had been doing when Bertram died. It
is terrible, terrible. I can't believe it. I can't understand it."
In spite of his iron nerve, the tragedy seemed to have shaken Everson
profoundly.
"You had done nothing that might have been dangerous?" asked Kennedy,
pointedly.
"Nothing," emphasized Everson. "You see, we located the wreck in a way
somewhat similar to the manner in which they sweep the seas for mines
and submarines. It was really very simple, though it took us some time.
All we did was to drag a wire at a fixed depth between the yacht and
the tug, or rather, I suppose you'd almost call it a trawler, which I
chartered from Havana. What we were looking for was to have the wire
catch on some obstruction. It did, too, not once, but many times, due
to the unevenness of the ocean bed. Once we located a wreck, but it was
in shallow water, a small boat, not the one we were looking for."
"But you succeeded finally?"
"Yes, only day before yesterday we located her. We marked the spot with
a buoy and were getting ready for real work. It was just after that
that Bertram was taken ill and died so suddenly. We've left Dominick,
Kinsale, Gage, and the rest on the trawler there, while I came here
with Traynor's body. God! but it was awful to have to send the news
back to New York. I don't know what to think or what to do."
"How did he die?" asked Kennedy, endeavoring to gain the confidence of
young Everson. "Do you recall any of his symptoms?"
"It came on him so suddenly," he replied, "that we hadn't much time to
think. As nearly as we could make out, it began with a faintness and
difficulty in breathing. We asked him how he felt--but it seemed as if
he was deaf. I thought it might be the 'bends'--you know, caisson
disease--and we started to put him in the medical lock which we had for
the divers, but before we could get it ready he was unconscious. It was
all so sudden that it stunned us. I can't make it out at all."
Neither Asta nor Norma seemed able to tell anything. In fact, the blow
had been so swift and unexpected, so incomprehensible, that it had left
them thoroughly alarmed.
The body of Traynor had already been brought ashore and placed in a
local undertaking shop. With Everson, Kennedy and I hastened to visit
it.
Traynor had been an athlete and powerfully built, which made his sudden
death seem all the more strange. Without a word, Craig set to work
immediately examining his body, while we stood aside, watching him in
anxious silence. Kennedy consumed the greater part of the morning in
his careful investigation, and after some time Everson began to get
restless, wondering how his wife and sister-in-law were getting on in
his absence. To keep him company I returned to the hotel with him,
leaving Kennedy to pursue his work alone.
There was nothing much that either of us could say or do, but I thought
I observed, on closer acquaintance with Norma, that she had something
weighing on her mind. Was it a suspicion of which she had not told us?
Evidently she was not prepared to say anything yet, but I determined,
rather than try to quiz her, to tell Kennedy, in the hope that she
might confide in him what she would not breathe to any one else.
It was perhaps an hour or more later that we returned to Craig. He was
still at work, though from his manner it was evident that his
investigations had begun to show something, however slight.
"Have you found anything?" asked Everson, eagerly.
"I think I have," returned Craig, measuring his words carefully. "Of
course you know the dangers of diving and the view now accepted
regarding the rapid effervescence of the gases which are absorbed in
the body fluids during exposure to pressure. I think you know that
experiment has proved that when the pressure is suddenly relieved the
gas is liberated in bubbles within the body. That is what seems to do
the harm. His symptoms, as you described them, seemed to indicate that.
It is like charged water in a bottle. Take out the cork and the gas
inside which has been under pressure bubbles up. In the human body, air
and particularly the nitrogen in the air, literally form death bubbles."
Everson said nothing as he regarded Kennedy's face searchingly, and
Craig went on: "Set free in the spinal cord, for instance, such bubbles
may cause partial paralysis, or in the heart may lead to stoppage of
the circulation. In this case I am quite sure that what I have found
indicates air in the arteries, the heart, and the blood vessels of the
brain. It must have been a case of air embolism, insufflation."
Though Everson seemed all along to have suspected something of the
sort, Kennedy's judgment left him quite as much at a loss for an
explanation. Kennedy seemed to understand, as he went on:
"I have tried to consider all the ways such a thing could have
happened," he considered. "It is possible that air might have been
introduced into the veins by a hypodermic needle or other instrument.
But I find no puncture of the skin or other evidence that would support
that theory. I have looked for a lesion of the lungs, but find none.
Then how could it have occurred? Had he done any real deep diving?"
Everson shook his head slowly. "No," he replied. "As I said, it
wouldn't have been so incomprehensible if he had. Besides, if we had
been diving, we should have been on the lookout. No, Bertram had only
tested the apparatus once, after we located the wreck. He didn't much
more than go under the surface--nothing like the practice dives we all
made up in Long Island Sound before we came down here. He was only
testing the pumps and other things to see whether they had stood the
voyage. Why, it was nothing at all! I don't see how it could have given
any one the 'bends'--much less a fellow like Traynor. Why, I think he
could have stood more than Kinsale with a little practice. Kennedy, I
can't get it out of my mind that there's something about this that
isn't RIGHT."
Craig regarded Everson gravely. "Frankly," he confessed, "I must say
that I don't understand it myself--at this distance."
"Would you come out to the Key with me?" hastened Everson, as though
grasping at a possible solution.
"I should be delighted to help you in any manner that I can," returned
Craig, heartily.
Everson could not find words to express his gratitude as we hurried
back to the hotel. In the excitement, I had completely forgotten the
despatch from the Star, but now I suddenly realized that here, ready to
hand, was the only way of getting out to the Key of Gold and securing
the story.
Asta Everson and Norma, especially, were overjoyed at the news that
Kennedy had consented to accompany them back to the wreck. Evidently
they had great faith in him, from what they had heard at home.
Accordingly, Everson lost no time in preparing to return to the yacht.
Nothing more now could be done for poor Traynor, and delay might mean
much in clearing up the mystery, if mystery it should prove. We were
well on our way toward the landing place before I realized that we were
going over much the same route that Kennedy and I had taken the day
before to reach the home of Guiteras.
I was just about to say something about it to Kennedy, and of the
impression that Norma had made on me, when suddenly a figure darted
from around a corner and confronted us. We stopped in surprise. It was
no other than Dolores herself--not the quiet, subdued Dolores we had
seen the day before, but an almost wild, passionate creature. What it
was that had transformed her I could not imagine. It was not ourselves
that she seemed to seek, nor yet the Eversons. She did not pause until
she had come close to Norma herself.
For a moment the two women, so different in type, faced each other,
Dolores fiery with the ardent beauty of her race, Norma pulsating with
life and vigor, yet always mistress of herself.
"I warn you!" cried Dolores, unable to restrain herself. "You thought
the other was yours--and he was not. Do not seek revenge. He is
mine--MINE, I tell you. Win your own back again. I was only making
sport of him. But mine--beware!"
For a moment Norma gazed at her, then, without a word, turned aside and
walked on. Another instant and Dolores was gone as suddenly as she had
appeared. Asta looked inquiringly, but Norma made no attempt at
explanation. What did it mean? Had it anything to do with the dispute
in the hotel which Kenmore had witnessed?
At the landing we parted for a time with Everson, to return to our
hotel and get what little we needed, including Kennedy's traveling
laboratory, while Everson prepared quarters for our reception on the
yacht.
"What do you make of that Dolores incident?" I hastened to ask the
moment we were alone.
"I don't know," he replied, "except that I feel it has an important
bearing on the case. There is something that Norma hasn't told us, I
fear."
While we waited for a wagon to transfer our goods to the dock, Kennedy
took a moment to call up Kenmore on the News. As he turned to me from
the telephone, I saw that what he had learned had not helped him much
in his idea of the case.
"It was the Interocean Company which had insured the Antilles," was all
he said.
Instantly I thought of Kinsale and his former connection. Was he
secretly working with them still? Was there a plot to frustrate
Everson's plans? At least the best thing to do was to get out to the
wreck and answer our many questions at first hand.
The Belle Aventure was a trim yacht of perhaps seventy feet, low, slim,
and graceful, driven by a powerful gas-engine and capable of going
almost anywhere. An hour later we were aboard and settled in a
handsomely appointed room, where Craig lost no time in establishing his
temporary traveling crime clinic.
It was quite late before we were able to start, for Everson had a
number of commissions to attend to on this his first visit to port
since he had set out so blithely. Finally, however, we had taken aboard
all that he needed and we slipped out quietly past the castle on the
point guarding the entrance to the harbor. All night we plowed ahead
over the brilliant, starry, tropical sea, making splendid time, for the
yacht was one of the fastest that had ever been turned out by the
builders.
Now and then I could see that Kennedy was furtively watching Norma, in
the hope that she might betray whatever secret it was she was guarding
so jealously. Though she betrayed nothing, I felt sure that it had to
do with some member of the expedition and that it was a more than
ordinarily complicated affair of the heart. The ladies had retired,
leaving us with Everson in the easy wicker chairs on the after-deck.
"I can't seem to get out of my mind, Everson, that meeting with the
Spanish girl on the street," suddenly remarked Kennedy, in the hope of
getting something by surprise. "You see, I had already heard of a
little unpleasantness in a hotel cafe, before the expedition started.
Somehow I feel that there must be some connection."
For a moment Everson regarded Kennedy under the soft rays of the
electric light under the awning as it swayed in the gentle air, then
looked out over the easy swell of the summer sea.
"I don't understand it myself," he remarked, at length, lowering his
voice. "When we came down here Dominick knew that girl, Dolores, and of
course Kinsale met her right away, too. I thought Gage was head over
ears in love with Norma--and I guess he is. Only that night in the cafe
I just didn't like the way he proposed a toast to Dolores. He must have
met her that day. Maybe he was a bit excited. What she said to-day
might mean that it was her fault. I don't know. But since we've been
out to the Key I fancy Norma has been pretty interested in Dominick.
And Kinsale doesn't hesitate to show that he likes her. It all sets
Donald crazy. It's so mixed up. I can't make anything of it. And
Norma--well, even Asta can't get anything out of her. I wish to Heaven
you could straighten the thing out."
We talked for some time, without getting much more light than Everson
had been able at first to shed on the affair, and finally we retired,
having concluded that only time and events would enable us to get at
the truth.
It was early in the morning that I was wakened by a change in the
motion of the boat. There was very little vibration from the engine,
but this motion was different. I looked out of the port-hole which had
been very cleverly made to resemble a window and found that we had
dropped anchor.
The Key of Gold was a beautiful green island, set, like a sparkling
gem, in a sea of deepest turquoise. Slender pines with a tuft of green
at the top rose gracefully from the wealth of foliage below and
contrasted with the immaculate white of the sandy beach that glistened
in the morning sun. Romance seemed to breathe from the very atmosphere
of the place.