He was awakened from sleep next morning by a voice outside his door.

It was the voice of Captain Sagesse. Then a knock came to the door and instantly on the knock it opened and the Captain came into the room.

Gaspard had slept late, it was full morning and the light was strong enough to shew Sagesse’s face and its expression. Something was evidently the matter. He shut the door and crossed the room.

“Here’s a pretty thing,” said Sagesse. “I am betrayed, my affair has been blown on—Have you spoken?”

“Spoken—on what?”

“Mon Dieu! What else but the expedition.”

“I, never—not a word—at least—”

“Yes?”

“I said to one man that I was going on a voyage with you, but I said nothing of the nature of the voyage.”

“Who was the man you spoke to?”

“An old gentleman of the name of Seguin.”

“Hell!” cried Sagesse, springing up from the chair on which he had taken his seat. “Seguin. There is only one Seguin on the island—ah, that’s where the money is coming from—” He ceased speaking, sat down on the chair again, crushed his panama hat, which he had taken off, between the palms of his hands and stared at the floor with a frown on his forehead and his lips pursed up.

161 The evening before, Jules, his first mate and henchman, had brought him wind of a rumour that was circulating amidst the drinking bars of the harbour side.

A rumour that Missie Sagesse had discovered the whereabouts of a wreck laden with kegs of gold dollars, that he was going to hunt for it, but would, most likely, fail as another expedition was starting, financed by a man much richer and more powerful than the Captain.

The whole thing had originated with Jules himself who, in his cups, had talked to a coloured woman of the secret which Sagesse had hinted to him. The hatred of the harbour side for Sagesse had supplied the other imaginary expedition.

In reality, nothing was known of any importance. Yet Sagesse, with whom suspicion was almost a disease, was sure that Gaspard had betrayed him. The only thing that made him feel uncertain on the matter was the fact that Gaspard was presumably unacquainted with any rich man capable of working mischief. And now Gaspard had confessed speaking to Seguin on the matter! Seguin, one of the richest men in the island and Sagesse’s greatest enemy.

The whole thing was plain.

Another man would have given rein to his temper, accused Gaspard to his face of the imaginary betrayal, come to blows with him.

But that was not the way of Captain Sagesse.

Gaspard was necessary to him as a working partner. If money were found, a white man, single-handed, might have an exceedingly difficult time with the black crew of La Belle Arlésienne. He had not time to find another white man to take Gaspard’s place, simply because now that the secret was known, the expedition must start as quickly as162 possible. No, it would be very impolitic to fight with him now, afterwards—ah, yes, afterwards when the money was salved and safe on board the ship, when he had discovered the temper of the crew under treasure-strain, then it would be different. He promised himself some satisfaction then, and promising himself this he unbent his brows and ceased to purse his lips.

“After all,” said he, “what does it matter? You say you told nothing to Paul Seguin. I believe you. All the same, he has got wind of the affair, he is going to send a man on the same job—”

“Tenez,” said Gaspard, “same job, how can he, when nobody knows about the island but you and me?”

“Ah,” said Sagesse, “that’s the mystery—how indeed? But he knows it and that is enough for me. I start in three days’ time.”

“Three days!”

“Yes, by working overtime, I’ll have the cargo out of the Belle day after to-morrow night—”

“Vé, but you will want time to get your tackle—”

“Oh, mon Dieu,” said Sagesse, “Do you think I ever say I’m going to do a thing without having my plans ready made? Come with me and you will see. We can have breakfast somewhere together and talk everything over when I have done my business.”

Gaspard got up and dressed and then the two men left the house and walked down the Rue du Morne side by side towards the harbour. Often in his life, Sagesse had been approached on the subject of sunken treasure. The Caribbean and the Atlantic about the Bahamas give a fine field for theoretical treasure-seekers, locations of sunken ships had been brought to him off Rum Cay, off Grand Cayman, off Matanzas. The ships were there right enough only163 waiting to be rifled, but Sagesse would have nothing to do with them. He had a profound knowledge of the sea and its trickery. He knew that though the ships were there they were tormented by currents, currents that varied with the ebb and flow so that divers could work only at slack; he knew the power of these currents to heap sand and hide treasure. He had seen the end of a broken deep-sea cable brought up, half a mile of it tied in knots by the mischievous hands of the currents as though some giant had been playing with it.

“When a treasure ship lies a prey to the currents of the sea, there is no use in hunting for treasure or for anything but disappointment,” was an axiom with him.

What led him to the present adventure was the fact that the ship was lying in a still lagoon in which diving operations could be conducted as easily as in a lake. She was not sanded up but coralled over, and if there was “stuff” in her a few charges of dynamite would soon lay her open.

The morning was bright over the sea when they reached the harbour side, La Belle Arlésienne was lying out on the blue water, the lighters beside her and the cargo coming out to the tune of winch pawls and the chanty of the negroes—
A Fort de France Ay ho!
A Fort de France Ay ho!
Bonjou Doux-Doux,
Ay ho!
A Fort de France,
A Fort de France,
Ay ho!

To southward of La Belle Arlésienne a big three-master164 was getting up anchor, a cable ship the Grappler was tramping the bay taking soundings. The water sinks to a tremendous depth here between Martinique and Dominica and from the Grappler away out on the violet blue of the “deeps” came the faint sewing-machine whirr of the Kelvin sounder at work.

Canotiers were paddling their tiny cargoes round the steamer from New York that had arrived the evening before and would start at noon; one could see the little canotiers, lemon-coloured slips of children standing up and diving for coins flung by the passengers.

It was a picture full of the spirit of morning, full of colour, and light, and movement, the hot wind of the tropics stirring flags and shaking out sail-cloth; sea gulls were fishing, flickering snow-white in the wind, their querulous cries came across the bay with the clank of the winch pawls, capstan pawls, and anchor-chain, and the endless chanty—
A Fort de France Ay ho!
A Fort de France Ay ho!
Bonjou Doux-Doux,
Ay ho!
A Fort de France,
A Fort de France,
Ay ho!

Faint, musical with distance.

Sagesse, leading the way, they passed along the shore edge to the Place Bertine.

The sunlight was just striking the Place Bertine over the shoulder of Pelée. In the blaze of morning light with the sea and wind shaking the tamarind trees, it formed a165 bright picture; women’s coloured dresses, turbans of yellow madras, men, some clad in white, some half naked, rolling the sugar hogsheads, laughing, and singing as they worked, all coloured men, from the white Creole to the jet-black negro; children—and you may be sure that wherever there is sugar either in cane or barrel you will find children—playing games, running messages; children black as sloes, yellow as bananas, honey-coloured babies naked as on the day they were born; over all the warm tropic wind blowing lazily, mixing the scent of the sea with the perfume of the land, cigar scent—for even the women are smoking the black Martinique bouts,—and the subtle ubiquitous scent of sugar in bulk.

Sagesse led the way across the Place to the row of warehouses and go-downs bordering it on the shore edge. He paused at an archway giving entrance to a big twilit warehouse, peeped into the gloom of the place as if in search of someone or something, and then entered followed by Gaspard.

It was an extraordinary warehouse, this, smelling of tar, sail-cloth, and rope. Piles of rusty chain, cable, old anchors, capstan bars, spars of all sorts, blocks of all sizes lay about, and in the gloom, ropes and remnants of tackle hanging from the beams overhead gave a last touch to the picture. One might have fancied it a cave in which a ship had come to wreck, or several ships for the matter of that.

In the midst of all the rubbish and odds and ends, the owner of the place, Monsieur Jaques, known as Jaques tout court by shipmasters from Port of Spain to Port Royal, moved about superintending three men who were engaged with palm and needle patching a sail spread on a vacant space of the floor.

There are some men who, vulture-like, make their living166 out of the ruin and dead bones of things, only in that way do they prosper, Jaques was one of these men, though you would never have guessed his vulturous instincts from his appearance which was that of a plump prosperous-looking business man, rather past the prime of life, grey-headed, clean-shaven, always smiling, always calm, always polite, always seeming to yield to your wishes—but iron in driving a bargain.

His business in life was the buying up of old ships and odds and ends of ships for next to nothing, and selling the remains at a profit. If you wanted an anchor or a suit of sails or a spar, he could always supply you. He would buy wrecks even when they were sunken—that is to say, of course, if they were lying in shallow water. He had bought in this way the Amine-Martell, lying on the thunderous beach to westward of Grande Anse. The bay in which she was lying was a death trap inaccessible from the sea or from the land, the cliffs were sheer walls of black rock polished and flawless; by lowering men over the cliff edge by ropes he had salved thirty-five thousand dollars in gold coin—a profitable business considering the fact that he had paid only two thousand dollars for her as she lay.

From Cura?oa to Porto Rico he had conducted salvage operations, fighting the sea for the pickings of ships, conducting the operations in person when there seemed a chance of good profits on the job.

Sagesse took Monsieur Jaques aside and explained what he wanted whilst Gaspard sat on a spar-end and watched the sail-patchers at work.

“I’ve got some diving work on hand,” said Sagesse. “I want two divers’ suits, a pump, everything complete. Have you them, and how much will you charge to hire them for two months?”

167 “Two thousand dollars deposit and five hundred for the hire,” replied Jaques without a moment’s hesitation.

“Three hundred and not a cent more.”

“My price is five hundred—and if you don’t like it I am sorry. I have already been approached by a gentleman on the same subject. I am expecting him here any moment, if he concludes the bargain with me, where else will you get diving apparatus—not in Martinique.”

This of course was a lie, but the mind of Sagesse, fogged with suspicion, saw in it a confirmation of the rumour that another expedition was on foot. Jaques, watchful as a bird of prey, saw the effect of his words without understanding entirely the reason.

“Who is this other person, then,” said Sagesse. “You can at least tell me his name.”

“I never give names in business, Captain, but as you have been my customer up to this, I will whisper something in your ear.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” said Jaques, lowering his voice, “I expect he is a gentleman on the same business as yourself.”

“The Devil!” said Sagesse. Then, recollecting himself, he laughed.

“If he is, he’s on a business that won’t bring him much profit—well, I can’t waste any more time, let’s see the suits and the apparatus.”

Jaques led the way through a door to the back premises, where in a shed were the diving suits, the pump, the air tubes, all nearly new and in good working order. The pump was constructed so that it could be fixed in a boat or be used from on board ship. La Belle Arlésienne had a boat that would do for the work to a nicety, she would have to be hauled across the islet and floated in the lagoon. The168 busy mind of the captain was arranging all these details as he examined the gear. Then, turning to Jaques:

“Three hundred for the hire and not a cent more.”

“Five hundred and not a cent less. Why should I let you have a thing for three hundred which I can hire out to someone else for five—that is not business.”

“Four hundred, come, the money down and the deposit.”

“Five hundred and not a cent less.”

“Four-fifty.”

“Why should I defraud myself of fifty dollars.”

“Well, five hundred be it.”

“And of course, M. le Capitaine, you will be responsible for any injury to the apparatus.”

“There will be no injury—and now that we have concluded business, I’ll tell you the name of the man who wanted to cut me out—who wanted to hire these things.”

Jaques, pleased with the bargain he had struck, delighted with the success of his ruse, and more delighted with the fact that it was the wily Captain Sagesse who had fallen a victim to his bluff, said nothing, but smiled.

“Shall I tell you?”

“If it pleases you.”

“Well, it was Paul Seguin—am I not right?”

“I cannot say—I never tell secrets of business.”

“Look here,” said Sagesse. “I want this matter put right. You and I have known each other for years. I want the information because I believe I have been betrayed on some business I have in hand. See here, if you whisper the name of the man who came to you about those diving suits, I’ll never tell, but I’ll be sure in my mind and on my guard, and I’ll pay you five dollars for the information.”

He took the money from his pocket as he spoke. “You’ll not tell—it will be kept entirely between ourselves?”

169 “Yes, I promise.”

“Then give me your ear.” Jaques approached his head close to the other’s and in a low voice said:

“Paul Seguin.”

“Thanks,” said Sagesse, handing over the money which Monsieur Jaques pocketed. Five dollars for just a lie was the best bargain he had ever made.

As Sagesse came through the warehouse, he found Gaspard still seated on the spar end watching the sail-patchers at their work. He could have shot him with all the pleasure in life, yet he greeted him cheerily and with a smile.

It is a profound popular mistake to attribute no sense of honour to a scoundrel.

He has the keenest sense of honour—in others. He feels when he is betrayed just as an honourable man feels only, perhaps, more acutely.

“And now that we have finished business,” said Jaques, “will you not take some refreshment, you and your friend?” He opened a door leading from the warehouse to a room, half sitting-room, half office, ushered them in, and opening another door, called for coffee, rum, and cigarettes.

In a moment, a servant, bearing a huge tray spread with the ordinary Martinique petit déjeuner, entered. Gaspard scarcely heard the entrance of the servant, he was examining a picture hanging on the pine boarding of the wall, a small, old-fashioned wood-engraving that had struck his eye immediately he entered and now held him fascinated as the serpent on the Place du Fort had held old M. Seguin.

It represented a man small and hideous, holding in one hand an immense sword and in the other hand a whip.

He was dressed in a shirt and loose trousers, a broad sash was round his waist and from the sash peeped the butt of a pistol.

170 The thing was horrible and grotesque. The man’s head and face were scarcely larger than the head and face of a child; yet the face had in it the ferocity of a demon; it was of extraordinary breadth across the cheek bones.

The limbs, as far as the clothing allowed them to be seen, were deformed, and as Gaspard stood fascinated and repelled, a shiver ran through him. He had seen this man—this thing—before—where? Impossible to say; in some past life, in some dream—glimpsed, perhaps, in the midst of some crowd, through the fumes of tobacco in some bar—somewhere, at some time in his life, he had seen that hideous head.

More, he felt that the creature, half man, half demon, had entered his life once, bringing evil into it. Yet, wildly searching his memory, he could remember nothing of the circumstance.

“Coffee or cognac?”

Monsieur Jaques was speaking and Gaspard turned from the picture and accepting a cup of coffee and a cigarette, took his seat at the table with the others.

Jaques, a cigar in his mouth and a cup of coffee before him, was deep in trade talk with Sagesse and Gaspard, pretending interest in their conversation, but hearing nothing, gazed round the room, taking in its details.

The walls were decorated with drawings of ships, Carib paddles, gourds, a glass case containing beetles and tarantulas, things of sea and land, but mostly of the sea.

Here was a chart of the Yucatan Straits marked in ink with the soundings of a wreck; beside it a chart of th............