The Secret of the Reef

They waited two days, anxiously watching for a trail of smoke, but nothing broke the skyline, and at last the breeze fell. It was a flat calm when they towed the Cetacea out on a gray morning, but the swell ran steep and a thin drizzle obscured the sea. The sloop plunged wildly over the long undulations, jerking back the dory in spite of her crew’s toil at the oars, and it was nearly noon when they picked up their cross-bearings and anchored by the wreck. Nobody suggested getting dinner and Jimmy went down as soon as he could put on the diving dress. He found the wreck, which freed him of a keen anxiety, but he had to come up without entering the hold. She had moved a short distance since he last saw her, and now lay almost on her beam-ends with her upper works badly shattered. The gap they had previously crept through was closed by broken beams. Jimmy supposed that heavy ice, floating deep in the water, had ground across her higher part as it drove out to sea.

Moran went down next, and reported on his return that an entrance might be made, with some trouble. Bethune went armed with a crowbar. By nightfall they had wrenched away several obstructing timbers and discovered that there was a good deal of sand to be moved. They ate a hearty supper and went to sleep. The work was the same the next day, but although they began as soon as it was light they realized by noon that the most they could hope for was to clear the way for an entrance on the morrow. All felt the effects of their labors and of breathing the compressed air, and when it was Jimmy’s turn to go down toward evening, he leaned on the coaming, reluctant to put on the dress.

“I’ll be ready when I’ve finished this pipe,” he said. “You’d better screw up that pump-gland in the meanwhile. I didn’t get as much air as I wanted last time.”

Moran set about it, and, though time was precious, Jimmy did not try to hurry him, but stood listlessly looking out to sea. A fine rain was falling, there was very little wind, and belts of fog streaked the dim gray water between him and the horizon. He was watching one belt when it seemed to open and a blurred shape crept out. Jimmy dropped his pipe and scrambled to the cabin top. He could distinguish a patch of white hull and a tall mast. As he called to the others a short funnel appeared, and a trail of smoke lay dark along the edge of the fog.

“We don’t need the glasses to tell whose boat that is,” he said harshly.

They knew her at the first glance and their faces hardened.

“Clay’s lost no time,” Bethune remarked. “Well, I suppose it means a fight, and we’ll gain nothing by running away now, but we may as well stop diving until we find out whether it’s worth while to go on.”

After securing the pumps and gear they waited, watching the yacht’s approach. She came straight on at moderate speed, and stopped three or four hundred yards away. They saw the anchor splash and heard a rattle of chain, but after that there was no sign of activity on board the vessel.

“It’s my opinion Clay knows who we are,” Moran said.

“You can take that for granted,” Bethune replied. “We’ll hear from him before long, but he doesn’t mean to show any eagerness in sending a boat off. As time’s getting on, I think we’ll have supper.”

As they finished the meal a smart gig, pulled by uniformed seamen, approached the sloop, and when she stopped alongside the helmsman handed Jimmy two notes.

Opening them in the cabin, he showed his companions two sheets of fine paper bearing an embossed flag and the vessel’s name. One note stated that Mr. Clay requested their company at supper on board his yacht, and the other, which was longer, was from Aynsley. He said that although he was not sure they had much cause to remember him with gratitude, he would be glad to see them, and hoped they would not refuse his father’s invitation.

“Do you think Clay made him write this?” Jimmy asked.

“No,” said Bethune. “On the whole, I imagine it was sent without Clay’s knowledge. Of course, Aynsley had some reason for writing, but while I can’t tell what it is, he’s not in the plot.”

“Anyway, I’m not going; I’ve no wish to sit at that man’s table.”

Bethune grinned as he indicated his pilot jacket, which was shrunk and stained by salt-water, and his old sea-boots.

“Our get-up’s hardly smart enough for a yacht’s saloon; and I’ve a notion that it might be wiser to stay where we are. Still, we’ll have to see him before long, and you’d better write a civil refusal; though I’m afraid we can’t match his decorative stationery.”

Jimmy tore a leaf out of his notebook and scribbled a few moments with a pencil. Then he read to his comrades:

“Mr. Farquhar and his friends regret their inability to leave their boat, but would esteem Mr. Clay’s company if he cares to visit them.”

“Bully!” exclaimed Bethune. “You’ve sealed it with a thumb-mark, and – well, we haven’t an envelope.”

When the gig’s crew rowed away with the note the three men gathered together in the little cabin.

“Will he come, do you think?” Moran asked.

“Oh, yes; but he’ll take his time, and get his supper first comfortably,” Bethune replied. “I’m rather anxious about the thing, because if he doesn’t come we can look out for trouble.”

“If that’s what he wants, he’ll get it,” Moran drawled, from his corner on a locker.

Jimmy sat smoking in thoughtful silence. He had learned that Clay was cunning and unscrupulous; and, if worse came to worse, they were cut off from any outside help by leagues of lonely sea. Their enemy had a strong crew who were, no doubt, well paid and ready to do his bidding; for Jimmy knew that Clay would not have sailed on such an errand with men he could not trust. The sloop’s party would be hopelessly outmatched if he used force; and it would be difficult to obtain redress afterward, because they were only three in number, and all interested in the undertaking, while Clay would have many witnesses, who could claim to be independent. The situation needed careful handling, and Jimmy was glad that Bethune was on board. For all that, if things came to the worst, Clay should not find them easy victims.

Presently he went out to look at the weather. The rain had stopped and low mist hung about, but a half-moon was rising in a patch of clear sky. The swell heaved, long and smooth, about the sloop, which swung up and down with a regular motion. Jimmy could see the yacht’s anchor light not far away and the yellow blink from her saloon windows, but he could hear nothing that suggested preparations for sending off a boat. As it was cold in the cockpit, he returned to the cabin, where the others had lighted the lamp, and none of them said much for the next hour. They could hear the loose halyards slap the mast and the water splash about beneath the floorings, and the soft lapping of the tide along the planking.

Moran suddenly raised his hand, and, after their long wait in suspense, it was a relief to hear the measured splash of oars.

“That means he’s willing to make terms,” Bethune said.

Five minutes later the yacht’s boat ran alongside and Clay climbed on board.

“You can take a run ashore, boys, and come off when we signal,” he said to his crew, and then turned to Jimmy. “I’ve come for a talk.”

“Will you come below,” said Jimmy, moving back the scuttle-slide. “Be careful how you get down: there’s not much room.”

Clay bumped his head before he found a place on a locker, where he sat silent for a moment, looking about. The light of the bulkhead lamp revealed the rough discomfort of the narrow cabin. Condensed moisture glistened on the low roof-beams; the floorings were damp and littered with coils of rope. The end of a torn sail projected from the forecastle door, and damp blankets were loosely spread on the lockers to dry in the warmth of the rusty stove. All this indicated stern, utilitarian economy, and the men’s ragged, work-stained clothes were in keeping with it; but Clay noticed that their expression was resolute.

In the meanwhile they were studying him, and it struck them that he looked ill. His face was flabby and there were heavy pouches under his eyes.

“So my invitation didn’t bring you off!” he said. “Were you afraid I might carry you out to sea?”

“Not exactly,” Bethune replied. “One would not suspect you of so crude a plan. Can’t you take it that we were afraid of a change of wind? You see, it’s a rather exposed position.”

“That’s so,” Clay agreed; “you have no steam to help you ride out a breeze. But we’ll get down to business. I made you an offer of five thousand dollars to give me the first chance of cleaning up this wreck. I’ll now go a thousand dollars better.”

“Is that your limit?”

“It is; you’ll save time by realizing it. I’ve bid up to the last cent I think worth while.”

“Suppose we decline?”

“You would be foolish. You have no claim on the wreck; in a sense, I have, and if we can’t come to some understanding I begin work at once. My yacht can hang on through a gale of wind and with our outfit we can get something done in pretty bad weather. You have a small sailing-boat and poor, cheap gear. As soon as a breeze gets up you’ll have to quit.”

“I imagine you haven’t yet mentioned all your advantages over us,” Bethune suggested.

Clay looked at him keenly and then smiled. “That’s so. I’m trying to be polite.”

“In fact, you’re keeping your strongest arguments in reserve. Unless we agree to your proposition, there’s not much chance of our recovering anything from the wreck?”

“You’re pretty near the mark,” Clay answered, smiling confidently.

“The odds seem against us. Perhaps I’d better be candid. The truth is, we have already recovered something of importance.”

Clay’s expression became intent.

“Then you’re smarter than I thought and you played your hand well the last time I met you. However, it will probably save us all trouble if we put our cards on the table. What have you got?”

Bethune took out his notebook.

“To begin with, two bags of gold; the weight and marks, so far as we could make the latter out – ”

“Shucks!” interrupted Clay. “They don’t count. You can keep your share of their salvage. Come to the point.”

“One iron-clamped, sealed case. The stencil marks, although partly obliterated, appear to be D.O.C. in a circle; the impress on the seals to attached tracing. Contents” – Bethune paused and looked steadily at Clay – “I dare say you know what these are?”

“Do you?” Clay asked sharply.

“We opened the case.”

There was silence for a few moments and all were very still. Clay’s voice was not so steady when he spoke again.

“Where is the case?”

“Not here,” said Bethune dryly. “If we don’t turn up to claim it within a fixed time, or if any attempt is made to obtain possession of it in our absence it will be handed to the underwriters.”

“You seem to have taken precautions,” Clay remarked.

“We did the best we could,” Bethune admitted with a modest air.

“Imagining that you might sell the box to me?”

“No!” Jimmy interposed sternly. “That was not our plan. When my partner first let you make an offer for the wreck – ”

Clay stopped him with a gesture.

“It was to lead me on – you needn’t explain. Very well; I suggested putting our cards down, and now I’ll tell you something you don’t suspect. There’s a duplicate of that box on board and it contains the gold.”

Jimmy started, Moran gazed at Clay with knitted brows, and Bethune looked frankly puzzled. Clay seemed quietly amused at their surprise.

“You don’t understand?” he said. “After all, there’s no reason why you should do so; but the truth of my statement is easily tested. Now I’ll ask you a question to which I want a straight answer. What are you going to do with the gold you get?”

“Deliver it to the underwriters and claim salvage,” said Jimmy promptly.

“That’s all? You have no other plans?”

“That is all.”

“Then I’ll exchange the case which holds the gold for the one you have. You can’t recover it without my help.”

For a time no one spoke. The three partners looked at one another in perplexed indecision, while Clay sat quietly still. There was a mystery behind the matter to which they could find no clue, and Clay would obviously not supply it. They did not know what to think.

“Do you know where to find this case?” Bethune asked.

“I believe so. I suggest that one of you come down to help me; Mr. Farquhar for preference.”

“Then you think of going down!” Jimmy exclaimed.

“I am going down the first thing to-morrow, whether you come or not. But what about my offer?”

“We can’t answer yet,” said Bethune. “It needs some thought.”

“Very well,” Clay agreed. “For all that, I must make a start in the morning. If you prefer, we can let the matter stand over until we find the case.” He paused and smiled at Jimmy. “You don’t look a nervous man and you needn’t hesitate. I’ve never put on a diving dress and you have had some experience; and I’m willing to use your boat and let your friends control the pumps.”

“I’m not afraid,” retorted Jimmy. “The difficulty is that the way into the strong-room is not yet open. It will take at least a day to remove the sand that has banked up against the opening.”

“Then I suppose I must wait, but I’ll send my diver across to help you at daybreak,” said Clay. “When everything is ready you can let me know. Now, if you have no suggestion to make, I think I’ll get back.”

Moran signaled to the boat’s crew, and when Clay had gone they sat down again in the cabin with thoughtful faces.

“I’ll admit that things have taken an unexpected turn,” Bethune remarked. “It’s obvious that we’re on the track of a secret of some importance which might explain a cunning fraud, but the matter’s complicated by the shipping of the genuine box of gold, and I can’t determine yet how far it’s our business to investigate it.”

“You don’t seem so ready at forming theories as usual,” Jimmy commented.

“I’ve made one or two and they look rather plausible until you test them. However, as it might be dangerous to jump to conclusions about the course we ought to take, I think we’d better wait. And now, as we’re to start at daybreak, it might be wise to go to sleep.”

CHAPTER XXIX – THE HIDDEN GOLD

The breeze was light at daybreak, and while the island still loomed shapeless and shadowy across the leaden water the yacht’s gig brought Clay’s diver and an excellent set of pumps. As soon as they were rigged the diver and Moran went below and took their turn with the others during the first half of the day, for there was still a good deal to be done before they could clear a passage into the hold. They sent Clay word of their progress and at noon Aynsley was rowed across to the sloop.

“Although you refused last night, I hope you’ll come on board to lunch,” he said, after greeting them pleasantly.

“We have too much on hand,” Jimmy replied. “In fact, we’re not going to stop for a meal. It’s unusually fine weather and we must get into the strong-room before dark. I expect it will take us three or four hours yet.”

“It’s a good excuse,” returned Aynsley. “In a way, I’m glad you’re too busy to come, because I imagine my father is very keen on finishing the job, and I don’t want him to get worrying about the delay.” He paused, and added frankly: “I’m going to ask a favor. He’s not well, and I gather that you and he are to some extent opposed. Now I can’t expect you to sacrifice your interest, but you might try to avoid any heated dispute as far as possible. Excitement isn’t good for him.”

“We can promise that,” said Jimmy. “It looks as if you knew nothing about the business.”

“I don’t. And, more than that, I have no wish to learn anything.”

“We’re not in a position to tell you much if you pressed us; but it struck us that your father wasn’t looking very fit, and it might be better if you stopped him from going down.”

“I can’t,” Aynsley answered with a smile. “I’m afraid I haven’t much control over him.”

Early in the evening Clay came on board and sat in the cockpit while the men relieved each other below. He asked a question now and then, but for the most part waited quietly, watching the bubbles that rose in milky effervescence.

At last the diver came up, and was followed closely by Bethune, bringing a rope.

“The strong-room’s open,” he said exultantly. “Heave on that line and see what you get!”

Moran pulled with a will, for there was some resistance to be overcome, and Jimmy leaned down in strong excitement when a wooden case smeared with sand broke the surface. Seizing it he came near to being dragged over the rail, and Bethune had to help him to lift it on board. Clay examined the case coolly, studying the half-washed-out marks.

“You ought to get something handsome for salvage on that, and I won’t contest your claim,” he said. “Keep it on board if you like; our diver’s paid by the day. Now, if you’re ready, we’ll go down.”

They carefully fastened on his dress, but when Bethune gave him a few instructions he said his own man had told him all he needed to know during the voyage. Jimmy put on his helmet and went first down the ladder, waiting at the bottom for Clay. It was, he felt, a strange experience to be walking along the sea-floor with a man who had been his enemy; but he was now master of the situation. Indeed, he had to help his companion when they reached the entrance to the hold and he did not think that Clay could have crept up the dark passage between the shaft tunnel and the hanging weed on the ship’s crushed side without his assistance. Their lamps glimmered feebly through the water that sucked in and out, and it was no easy matter to keep signal-lines and air-pipes clear. Clay, however, though awkward and somewhat feeble in his movements, showed no want of nerve.

When they crawled into the strong-room he stood still, moving his lamp. The pale flashes wavered to and fro, searching the rough, iron-bound planks, until they stopped, fixed upon one spot. Clay beckoned Jimmy toward it, and then, losing his balance, lurched and swayed in a ludicrous manner before he could steady himself. Jimmy thought the man must be mistaken, for he had indicated a plank in the deck between two iron plates, although, as the wreck had fallen over, the plank was on one side of them, instead of being overhead. He turned to Clay with a questioning motion of his hands, but the flicker of light was still fixed upon the same spot. Jimmy raised the crowbar he had brought and drove it into a joint nearly level with his head, and Clay indicated that he was doing right.

Jimmy knew that he had no time to lose. Clay was not in good health, and had already been under water as long as was safe for a man unaccustomed to the pressure. If he broke down, it would be difficult to get him out of the hold. For all that, Jimmy was reluctant to abandon the search a moment before it was necessary. It was getting dark, the stream was gaining strength, and it did not seem probable that any one could get down again that night. Jimmy wanted to finish his task.

The beam he attacked was soft, but two bolts ran through it and an iron strap was clamped along its edge. The rotten timber tore away in flakes, but Jimmy could not break out a large piece, and the iron fastenings deflected his bar. He glanced at his companion, who encouraged him by a gesture; and then fell to work again with determined energy. He did not know how long he continued, but he was disturbed by a movement of the water and saw Clay swaying slackly to and fro. It looked as if he were about to fall, but his heavy boots and buoyant dress kept him upright. Still he might go down, and Jimmy knew that it is hard to recover one’s balance in a diving dress. Clay must be got out at once. Jimmy seized his arm and made his way toward the opening, thrusting his companion along the side of the shaft tunnel.

It was with keen relief that he dragged him clear of the splintered beams at the entrance to the hold and stepped out on the level bottom of the sea. No light came down through the water, even the shadow of the sloop above was no longer discernible; but Jimmy had his signal-line for guide and followed it with his hand on Clay’s shoulder, until he distinguished the ripple of the tide about the ladder.

Pushing his companion toward it, he watched his clumsy ascent and then clambered up. When he got on board Clay was sitting on deck, but he sank back limply against the cabin top as they took his helmet off. It was nearly dark, but they could see that his lips were blue, and that his livid face was mottled by faint purple patches. He gasped once or twice, and then began to fumble awkwardly at the breast of the diving dress.

“I know what he wants!” cried Aynsley. “Get these things off him as quick as you can! Somebody bring me a spoon!”

They hurriedly stripped the canvas covering from the half-conscious man, and, taking a small bottle from his vest pocket, gave him a few drops of the liquid. It took effect, for in a few moments Clay feebly raised himself.

“Better now; not used to diving,” he said, and turned to Jimmy as Aynsley and a seaman helped him into the waiting gig. “We’ll get the case next time.”

The gig pulled away, and the three men watched it disappear into the darkness.

“It’s lucky you were able to bring him up,” Bethune observed.

“I was scared at first,” Jimmy confessed. “Perhaps I should have come up sooner, but he seemed determined to stop.”

“What about the case?”

“We hadn’t time to get at it. You see, it’s not in the strong-room. He made me start cutting out the underside of the deck.”

“The deck!” exclaimed Moran. “Then they must have put the stuff in the poop cabin!”

“I don’t think so. I expect there’s a shallow space between the main beams and the cabin floor.”

“And that’s where the case is? It strikes me as curious; distinctly curious!”

“I dare say; I didn’t think of that. The most important thing is that we ought to reach the case in about an hour.”

“It’s too risky. The tide’s running strong now, and it’s going to be very dark. We have kept clear of serious trouble so far, and I see no sign of wind.”

Jimmy reluctantly agreed to wait until the morning and Bethune went below to get supper ready.

At daybreak Aynsley pulled across in the yacht’s small dinghy, and his face had an anxious look as he entered the Cetacea’s cabin, where Jimmy was cleaning some of the pump fittings by lamplight.

“How is Mr. Clay?” Jimmy asked.

“He looks very ill. I left him getting up and sculled across as quietly as I could to have a talk with you. Can you do anything to prevent his going down? I don’t think he’s fit for it.”

“I’m afraid not. You see, we’re at variance, in a way, and if we made any objections he’d get suspicious.”

“You couldn’t play some trick with the diving gear? I’m worried about him; the pressure and exertion might be dangerous.”

“We might put our own pump out of action, but we couldn’t meddle with yours, and he might insist on going alone.”

“That wouldn’t do,” said Aynsley. “I wouldn’t hesitate to smash our outfit, but he’d get so savage about it that the excitement would do more harm than the diving.”

“Then you’ll have to reason with him.”

Aynsley smiled.

“I’ve been trying it ever since we dropped anchor, and it hasn’t been a success; you don’t know my father.” He gave Jimmy a steady look. “He means you to be his companion, and although I’ve no claim on you, I want you to promise that you’ll take care of him.”

Everything considered, it struck Jimmy as curious that he should be the recipient of this request; but he sympathized with Aynsley, and imagined that his anxiety was justified. Clay had treated them harshly, but he was ill and apparently powerless to injure them further.

“Very well,” he promised. “I’ll do the best I can.”

“Thanks!” responded Aynsley in a grateful tone. “I can trust you, and I’ve a notion that my father feels safe in your hands; though he’s not confiding, as a rule.”

“If you’ll wait a minute we’ll give you some coffee,” Bethune said hospitably.

“No, thanks!” replied Aynsley. “I must get back before I’m missed. There’d be trouble if my irascible father guessed why I’d come here.”

He jumped into the dinghy and sculled her silently into the mist that drifted between the vessels; and half an hour later Clay came off with the diver in the gig. His face had a gray, pinched look, and Jimmy noticed that he breathed rather hard after the slight effort of getting on board the sloop.