The Sunken Treasure

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ARTHUR B. REEVE

THE SUNKEN TREASURE

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First published in Cosmopolitan, February 1917

This e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2021
Version Date: 2022-08-26

Produced by Matthias Kaether and Roy Glashan
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Cosmopolitan, February 1917, with "The Sunken Treasure"

A member of New York's detective force recently said, "It has been proved that science is better in obtaining evidence than 'gum-shoe' work or third-degree methods." Craig Kennedy, in getting to the bottom of this mystery, employs the most ingenious device that scientific men have invented in a long time—not for purposes of criminal investigation, to be sure, but Craig, who never misses a trick, loses no time in using it in his own work.

GET STORY EVERSON AND BRIDE, YACHT BELLE AVENTURE, SEEKING TREASURE SUNK GULF LINER ANTILLES.

KENNEDY and I had proceeded, after a few leisurely days in St. Thomas, to Porto Rico. We had no particular destination, and San Juan rather appealed to us as an objective point, because it was on American soil.

It was there that I found waiting for me the above message by wireless from the Star, in New York.

San Juan was, as we had anticipated, a thoroughly Americanized town, and 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 newspaper men 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' locker for sunken treasure—I guess that's a good story, isn't it?"

"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 were 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—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, Dolores Guiteras, the daughter of a pilot. 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 café 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. The pilot 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——"

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, far-away 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.

"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—on her way to New York from Vera Cruz—with several hundred Mexican refugees on board, when she was discovered to be on fire. 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."

"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 the flames had gained too great headway. 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, even if 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 willing, at any reasonable price, to change his plans to accommodate us.

IT was early the next morning when 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 for Asta's honeymoon on 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."

"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?"

"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 were 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 were graduated. It was in San Juan that Orrin first met Mr. Dominick, who was 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 on board?"

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. It is known 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 anyone 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, that's how 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 possesses 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. 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 sensed 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 was splendidly matched as to 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, was quite like her 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 the young man profoundly.

"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."

"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. 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 were 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 undertaker's shop. With Everson, Kennedy and I hastened to visit it.

Traynor had been an athlete and was powerfully built, which made his sudden death seem all the more strange.

Kennedy consumed the greater part of the morning in making a careful investigation of the body, 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 there was something weighing on her mind. Was it a suspicion 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 mention my impression to Kennedy, in the hope that she might confide in him what she would not have breathed to anyone else.

AFTER an hour or more, we returned to Craig. He was still at work, and, from his manner, it was evident that his investigations had begun to show something.

"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. Traynor's 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 forms 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 still 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?"

"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 practise 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. It was nothing at all. I don't see how it could have given anyone the bends—much less a fellow like Traynor. Why, I think he could have stood more than Kinsale with a little practise. Kennedy, I can't get it out of my mind that there's something about this that isn't right."

"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 way that I can," returned Craig heartily.

Everson could not find words to express his gratitude. 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.

EVERSON lost no time in preparing to return to the yacht. Nothing more could be done for poor Traynor, and prompt action might mean much in clearing up the mystery, if mystery it should prove.

Our way to the landing-place took us over much the same route that Kennedy and I had taken the day before to reach Guiteras's home.

I was just about to say something about this to Kennedy and of the impression that Norma had made on me, when suddenly a figure darted from around the corner and confronted us. We stopped in surprise. It was none other than Dolores herself—not the quiet, subdued Dolores we had seen the day before, but almost a wild 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.

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 longer. "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 things 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, graceful, driven by a powerful gas-engine and capable of going almost anywhere. An hour later, we were aboard and established in a handsomely-appointed room, where Craig lost no time in setting up his temporary traveling crime-clinic.

It was quite late before we were able to start, for Everson had a number of purchases to attend to. 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 very fast.

Now and then, I could see that Kennedy was furtively watching Norma, in the hope that she might reveal whatever secret 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 wicker easy-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 through surprise. "You see, I had already heard of a little unpleasantness in a hotel café before the expedition started. Somehow, I feel that there must be some connection."

For a moment, Everson regarded Kennedy in 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 café, 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. 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!"

IT was early in the morning that I was wakened by a change in the boat's motion. There was a little vibration from the engine, but this was different. I looked out of the port-hole 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.

We found that the others on the yacht were astir, too, and, dressing hastily, we went out on the deck. Across the dancing waves, which seemed to throw a mocking challenge to the treasure-seekers to find what they covered, we could see the trawler. A small power-boat had put out from her and was skimming along toward us.

It was as the boat came alongside us that we met Gage for the first time. He was a tall, clean-cut young fellow, but even at a glance I recognized that his was an unusual type.

Particularly I tried to discover how he acted when he met Norma. It was easy to see that he was very eager to greet her, but I fancied that there was some restraint on her part. Perhaps she felt that we were watching, and was on her guard.

Dominick greeted Everson warmly. He was a man of about thirty-five, and impressed one as having seen a great deal of the world. His position as purser had brought him into intimate contact with many people, and he seemed to have absorbed much from them.

Kinsale, on the other hand, was a rather silent fellow and therefore baffling. In his own profession of deep-sea diving, he was an expert, but, beyond that, I do not think he possessed much except an ambition to get ahead, which might be praiseworthy or not, according as he pursued it.

I fancied that, next to Everson himself, Norma placed more confidence in Dominick than in any of the others, which seemed to be quite natural, though it noticeably piqued Gage. On the part of all three, Gage, Dominick, and Kinsale, it was apparent that they were overjoyed at the return of Norma. Asta was undoubtedly the more fascinating, but she was wrapped up in Everson. It was not long before Kennedy and I also fell under the spell of Norma's presence and personality.

We hurried through breakfast and lost no time in accepting Everson's invitation to join him with the rest, in the little powerboat, on a visit to the trawler.

It was Dominick who took upon himself the task of explaining to us the mysteries of treasure-hunting as we saw them.

"You see," he remarked, pointing out to us what looked almost like a strangely-developed medieval suit of armor, "we have the most recent deep-sea diving-outfit, which will enable us to go from two hundred to three hundred feet down—and establish a record, if we had to do it. It won't be necessary, though. We have found that the Antilles lies in about two hundred and fifty feet of water. This armor has to be strong, for, with the air-pressure inside, it must resist nearly half a pound per square inch for each foot we descend—to be exact, something like a hundred and five pounds per square inch at the depth of the wreck. Perhaps if Traynor had been diving, we might have thought that that was the trouble.

"He had only had the suit on once," went on Dominick, confirming Everson, "and that was merely to test the pumps and valves and joints. Even Kinsale, here, hasn't been down."

Kennedy showed more interest in the diving-apparatus than he had shown in anything else so far. The trawler was outfitted most completely as a tender, having been anchored over the exact spot at which the descents were to be made, and held by four strong cables. For the moment, Dominick, Gage, and Kinsale seemed to have forgotten us in their interest in explaining to Norma what had been accomplished in her absence. So carefully had accident been guarded against, that even a device which forced the fresh air down to the diver had been installed in the machine.

Kennedy was now examining one part of the apparatus where the air was passed through a small chamber containing a chemical for the removal of carbon dioxide. Presently, I noticed a peculiar expression on his face. Quickly he removed the chemical, leaving the tube through which the air passed empty.

"I think the air will be pure enough without any such treatment," he remarked, glancing about to be sure no one had observed.

"Well, you know, air is a mechanical mixture of gases, mainly oxygen and nitrogen. Here's something that gives it an excess of nitrogen and a smaller percentage of oxygen. Nitrogen is the more dangerous gas for one under compressed air. It is the more inert nitrogen that refuses to get out of the blood after one has been under pressure, that forms the bubbles of gas which cause all the trouble, the bends—compressed-air sickness, you know."

"Then that is how Traynor died?" I whispered, coming hastily to the conclusion. "Some one placed the wrong salt in there—took out oxygen, added nitrogen, instead of removing carbon dioxide?"

"No one has been down on the wreck yet?" inquired Craig, at which Everson turned quickly to the three companions he had left in charge, himself anxious to know.

"No," replied Kinsale, before anyone else could answer; "Mr. Dominick thought we'd better wait until you came back."

Remonstrance had no effect with him. Accordingly, in spite of the danger, which now no one no more than he knew, all the preparations were made for the first dive. With the aid of Kinsale, he donned the heavy suit of rubberized reenforced canvas, had the leads placed on his feet, and finally was fitted with the metal head and the bib—the whole weighing little less than three hundred pounds. It was with serious misgiving that I saw him go over the side of the trawler.

The moments that he was down seemed interminable. Yet, when there came a hasty signal on the indicator from below, I knew that only a very short time had passed. Could it be a signal of trouble?

I don't know when I have felt more relief than I did at seeing the weird head-gear appear at the surface. The danger from the bends might not be entirely over, yet, but, at least, it was Craig himself, safe.

As he came over the side of the trawler, I ran to him. It was like trying to greet a giant in that outlandish suit, which was so clumsy out of the water. Craig's back was turned to the others, and when I realized the reason. I stood aghast. He had brought up a skull and had handed the gruesome thing to me with a motion of secrecy. Meanwhile, he hastened to get out of the cumbersome suit and showed no evidence yet of any bad effects.

That he should have made the descent and returned so successfully, I felt must be a surprise to some one. Who was it? I could not help thinking of Kinsale again. Was he working for two masters? Was he still employed by the insurance company? Was this a scheme to capture all the rich salvage of the ship instead of that percentage for which Everson had secured an agreement with the underwriters?

KENNEDY lost no time in getting back to the Belle Aventure with the skull which I had concealed for him. It was a strange burden, and I was not loath to resign it to him. None of the others, apparently, knew that he had brought up anything with him. To all questions, he replied as though he had merely been testing out the apparatus and, except in a most cursory way, had not made an examination of the ship.

In our cabin, Kennedy set to work immediately after opening his traveling laboratory and taking from it a small kit of tools and some materials that looked almost like those for an actor's make-up.

I saw that he wished to be left alone and retired as gracefully as I could, determined to employ the time in watching the others.

I found Norma seated in one of the wicker chairs on the after deck, talking earnestly with Dominick, and, hesitating whether I should interrupt them, I paused between the library and the sumptuously-fitted main saloon. I was glad that I did, for just that moment of hesitation was enough for me to surprise a man peering out at them through the curtains of a window, with every evidence of intense dislike of the situation. Looking closer, I saw that it was Gage. Had I expected anything of the sort, I should have gone even more cautiously. As it was, though I surprised him, he heard me in time to conceal his real intentions by some trivial action.

It seemed as if our arrival had been succeeded by a growth of suspicion among the members of the little party. Each, so far as I could make out, was now on his guard, and, remembering that Kennedy had often said that that was a most fruitful time, since it was just under such circumstances that even the cleverest could not help incriminating himself. I hastened back to let Craig know how matters were.

He was at work now on a most grotesque labor, and, as he placed the finishing touches on it, he talked abstractedly.

He was at work now on a most grotesque labor, and, as he
placed the finishing touches on it, he talked abstractedly.

"What I am using, Walter," he explained, "might be called a new art. Lately, science has perfected the difficult process of reconstructing the faces of human beings of whom only the skull or a few bones, perhaps, are obtainable.

"The method, I might say, has been worked out independently by Professor von Froriep, in Germany, and by Doctor Henri Martin, in France. Its essential principle consists of ascertaining, from the examination of many corpses, the normal thickness of flesh that overlies a certain bone in a certain type of face. From these calculations, the scientists by elaborate processes build up a face on the skull."

"For instance," he went on, "a certain type of bone always has nearly the same thickness of muscle over it. A very fine needle with graduations of hundredths of an inch is used in these measurements. As I have done here, a great number of tiny plaster pyramids, varying in height according to the measurements obtained by these researches, are built up over the skull, representing the thickness of the muscles. The next step will be to connect them together by a layer of clay, the surface of which is flush with the tips of the pyramids. Then wax and grease-paint and a little hair will complete it. You see, it is really scientific restoration of the face. I must finish it. Meanwhile, I wish you would watch Norma."

NORMA was not on deck when I returned, nor did I see anyone else for some time. I walked forward and paused at the door of the little wireless-room, intending to ask the operator if he had seen her.

"Where's Mr. Kennedy?" he inquired, before I had a chance to put my own question. "Some one has been in here this morning, and must have been sending messages. Things aren't as I left them. I thought he ought to know."

Just then, Everson himself came up from below, his face almost as white as the paint on the sides of his yacht. Without a word, he drew me aside.

"I've just discovered half a dozen sticks of dynamite in the hold," he whispered hoarsely, staring wide-eyed at me. "There was a timing-device, set for to-night. I've severed it. Where's Kennedy?"

We looked at each other blankly. Clearly, some one had plotted to blow up the yacht and all of us on board.

Without another word, I took his arm and we walked toward our stateroom, where Kennedy was at work. As we entered the narrow passage to it, I heard low voices. Kennedy was talking in the passage. We turned the corner, and I saw that he was with Norma.

As we approached, she glanced significantly at Kennedy, as if appealing to him to tell something. Before he could speak, Everson himself interrupted, telling of his discovery of the dynamite and of what the wireless-operator had found. There was a low exclamation from Norma.

"It's a plot to kidnap me!" she cried, in a smothered voice. "Professor Kennedy—I told you I thought so!"

Everson and I could only look our inquiries at the startling new turn of events.

"Miss Sanford has just been to her stateroom," hastily explained Craig. "There she found that some one had carefully packed up a number of her things and hidden them, as if waiting a chance to get them off safely. I think her impression is correct. There would be no motive for robbery—here."

Vainly I tried to reason it out. As I thought, I recalled that Gage had seemed insanely jealous of both Dominick and Kinsale, whenever he saw either with Norma. Did Gage know more about these mysterious happenings than appeared? Why had he so persistently sought her? Had Norma instinctively fled from his attentions?

IT seemed an interminable time as the message was broken out in flags to the trawler, which was not equipped with wireless. Even the hasty explanation which Kennedy had to give to Asta Everson, as she came out of her cabin, wondering where Orrin had gone, served only to increase the suspense. It was as though we were living over a powder-magazine that threatened to explode at any moment. What did the treachery of one member of the expedition mean? Above all, who was it?

We had been so intent watching from the deck the all too slow approach of the little power-boat from the trawler that we had paid no attention to what was on our other quarter.

We turned to look. Who was she, friend or foe? We knew not what to expect. Everson, pale but with a firm grip on his nerves, did not move from the deck as the power-boat came alongside and Dominick, Gage, and Kinsale swung themselves up the ladder to us.

"It's the tug of that pilot, Guiteras, sir," interposed the man who had spoken before.

The tug ranged up alongside. To my utter astonishment, I saw Dolores, her black eyes eagerly scanning our faces. It was only a moment when the party that had put out from the tug also came tumbling aboard.

"I got your message, Kennedy, and brought Guiteras. He wouldn't join the expedition, but he thought more of his daughter than of anything else."

It was Kenmore, who had at last achieved his wish to get on the treasure-hunt story.

"He shall marry my daughter!" boomed a gruff voice, as Guiteras shouldered his way through the little group, his hand shooting back to a pocket where bulged a huge revolver.

"Just a second, Captain!" he shouted, then turned to us, speaking rapidly and excitedly. "This thing has all been carefully, diabolically laid out. All who stood in the way of the whole of the treasure were to be eliminated. One person has sought to get it all—at any cost."

In Craig's own hand now gleamed a deadly automatic while with the other he held Guiteras' wrist. "But," he added tensely, "an insane passion has wrecked the desperate scheme. A woman has been playing a part—leading the man on to his own destruction, in order to save the man she really loves."

I looked over at Norma. She was pale and agitated, then burning and nervous by turns. It was only by a most heroic effort that she seemed able to restrain herself, her eyes riveted on Kennedy's face.

"The Antilles," shot out Kennedy suddenly, "was burned and sunk, not by accident but with a purpose. That purpose has run through all the events I have seen—the use of Mr. Everson, his yacht, his money, his influence. Come!"

"It is a vast, dastardly crime—to get the Mexican millions," he went on, pausing, his hand on the knob of the door while we crowded the narrow passage. "I have brought up from the wreck a skull which I found near a safe, unlocked so that entrance would be easy. The skull shows plainly that the man had been hit on the head by some blunt instrument, crushing him. Had he discovered something that it was inconvenient to know? You have heard the stories of the ill-fated ship——"

Craig flung open the door suddenly. We saw a weird face—the head apparently streaming blood from a ghastly wound.

"It's his ghost—Captain Driggs! God save me—it's his ghost come to haunt me and claim the treasure!"

"You never cared for her?" she asked, with the anxiety that showed how in her heart she loved him.

"Never—it was part of the plot—I sent the message to get her here to show you. I didn't know you were playing a game——"

Suddenly the sharp crack of a pistol almost deafened us in the close passageway. As the smoke cleared, I saw Dolores, her eyes blazing with hatred, jealousy, revenge. In her hand was the pistol she had wrenched from her father.

On the floor, across the door-sill, sprawled a figure. Dominick had paid the price of his faithlessness to her, also.

On the floor, across the door-sill, sprawled a figure.
Dominick had paid the price of his faithlessness to her, also.

THE END