My uncle and I were seated in deck chairs enjoying the cool of the evening as well as our depressed spirits would allow, when Mr. Wilkins approached, holding a bundle of papers in his hand.
"Well, what is it, Mr. Wilkins?"
"I've just been overhauling poor Dirham's ditty-box, sir, and there's something queer about these letters. I thought I'd best show them to you before I mention the matter to Mr. Trevena."
"They are all from the same individual, I notice," remarked Uncle Herbert as he glanced at the address. "This, I take it, is the first."
It was a plain envelope, on which was written, "Mr. J. Dirham, Yacht 'Fortuna,' Malta." Taking out the contents, Uncle Herbert held a sheet of closely written paper up to the light of a deck lamp. On the top of the paper was the heading, The Yachtsman's Fortnightly Journal, with an address at Plymouth.
DEAR SIR. (it ran),—
We are in receipt of your letter of the 21st ult., and note the
information given of "Fortuna" yacht as arranged. Kindly let us
know as soon as can be ascertained the lat. and long. of the island
to which you go. A further sum of five shillings has been placed to
your credit in our ledgers.
Yours very truly,
JAMES TICKET (Editor).
"There's something fishy about this, Mr. Wilkins. In the first place, I don't believe there is such a journal as The Yachtsman's Fortnightly, and, secondly, no editor would pen such un-English jargon."
"That's what I thought, sir; now read this one."
The second communication was addressed to the yacht at Point de Galle, Ceylon, and thanked the recipient for the information regarding the position of San Philipo Island. Curiously enough, it was signed "James Trickett," a difference of two letters to the signature of the previous epistle.
"Do you think we might show them to Mr. Trevena?" asked the bos'n. "I don't like to worry him, seeing him so cut up just at present.
"I don't think it will do him any harm," replied my uncle. "If anything, it will give him something to occupy his mind. I am of the opinion that some underhand business is afloat, and that Dirham was an agent in the matter. However, we'll see what my brother has to say about it."
So saying, he led the way to the cabin, where my father was sitting brooding over the calamities of the day. Without speaking, my uncle handed him the packet of letters, which my father carelessly took, but before he had read the first two or three his face lighted up with animated interest.
"What do you make of the business?" asked my uncle. "It seems a bit of a mystery?"
"A mystery? My word!—the whole affair is as clear as daylight. An interested party, or parties, must have been trying to find out the destination of the 'Fortuna' in order to try, and cut her out, as it were. What surprises me is that a rival expedition has not appeared on the scene before now; but let them come," he added bitterly; "they are welcome to what's left."
"Then you think the Yachtsman's Fortnightly Journal is a myth!"
"Undoubtedly. There never was such a periodical, and it is merely a blind. Dirham was a traitor, though perhaps he acted in ignorance of the jeopardy, in which he might have placed us, thinking that he was merely giving commonplace information to a yachting paper; and I am convinced that, judging by the orthographical and grammatical errors in these letters, the author is none other than your Brazilian friend, the fellow you shot when he broke into our house."
"Your explanation seems plausible."
"Nothing could be more simple. The Brazilian received the particulars of the position of the island from Dirham, who, judging by the postmarks and addresses on these envelopes, sent the information from Port Said or Suez. It was after we left Malta, you remember, that the latitude and longitude of the island became an open secret. No doubt the villain, who may be a man of wealth or at least of considerable means, knew far more about the treasure than we are aware. He might have wormed part of the secret from Ross Trevena or his son during their residence near Pernambuco. However, he receives the information, for, as you see here, he acknowledges the receipt of it, and I'll be greatly surprised if a private steam-yacht has not been chartered to try and carry off the treasure before we arrived at the island."
"I should like to witness their disappointment," remarked my uncle.
"It would not be greater than mine is," replied my father, relapsing into a depressed tone at the thought of our ill-fortune. "Two poor fellows have been sacrificed to the lust of gold, and the bulk of the treasure lies at the bottom of the sea."
"You may recover it yet, 'sir," exclaimed the bos'n. "The divers are willing to make the attempt, and it may be that there is less water at the spot where the whaler sank than we know of."
"No, Mr. Wilkins," replied my father emphatically, "I'll have no more lives risked in the matter. The stuff can stay where it is. After all, we have not done so badly, if we do not take into consideration the two deplorable fatalities. The two large chests, four boxes of specie, and the gold plate are not to be sneezed at, and, as I have already announced to the crew, every man will be well provided for when the treasure is shared out. Even now we have done better than most of the treasure-hunting syndicates that have been formed in recent years, for we have a substantial balance in hand."
"Then we'll weigh anchor to-morrow, sir?" asked the bos'n. "Everything is shipshape—stores, water, and ballast are aboard."
"You must have worked well," exclaimed my father enthusiastically. "Yes, to-morrow at daybreak."
* * * * *
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