In Her Own Right

“May we have seen the last of you!” said Macloud, as the buggy disappeared among the trees; “and may the police provide for you in future.”

“And while you’re about it,” said Croyden, “you might pray that we find the treasure—it would be quite as effective.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s four o’clock. Now, to resume where those rogues interrupted us. We had the jewels located, somewhere, within a radius of fifty feet. They must be, according to our theory, either on the bank or in the Bay. We can’t go at the water without a boat. Shall we tackle the land at once? or go to town and procure a boat, and be ready for either in the morning.”

“I have an idea,” said Macloud.

“Don’t let it go to waste, old man, let’s have it!” Croyden encouraged.

“Oh, Lord!” ejaculated Croyden, with upraised hands.

“Then, as soon as dusky Night has drawn her robes about her,” Macloud repeated, imperturbably, “we set to work, by the light of the silvery moon. We arouse no comment—provoke no investigation. When morning dawns, the sands are undisturbed, and we are sleeping as peacefully as guinea pigs.”

“And if there isn’t a moon, we will set to work by the light of the silvery lantern, I reckon!” said Croyden.

“And, when we tackle the water, it will be in a silver boat and with silver cuirasses and silver helmets, à la Lohengrin.”

“And I suppose, our swan-song will be played on silver flutes!” laughed Croyden.

“There won’t be a swan-song—we’re going to find Parmenter’s treasure,” said Macloud.

Leaving Axtell in camp, they drove to town, stopping at the North end of the Severn bridge to hire a row-boat,—a number of which were drawn up on the bank—and to arrange for it to be sent around to the far end of the Point. At the hotel, they found a telephone call from the Mayor’s office awaiting them.

Croyden assured him it was more than satisfactory.

That night they began the hunt. That night, and every night for the next three weeks, they kept at it.

“It’s a foolish hunt, anyway!” said Croyden. “We knew from the first it couldn’t succeed.”

“But we wanted to prove that it couldn’t succeed,” Macloud observed. “If you hadn’t searched, you always would have thought that, maybe, you could have been successful. Now, you’ve had your try—and you’ve failed. It will be easier to reconcile yourself to failure, than not to have tried.”

“In other words, it’s better to have tried and lost, than never to have tried at all,” Croyden answered. “Well! it’s over and there’s no profit in thinking more about it. We have had an enjoyable camp, and the camp is ended. I’ll go home and try to forget Parmenter, and the jewel box he buried down on Greenberry Point.”

“I think I’ll go with you,” said Macloud.

“To Hampton!” Croyden exclaimed, incredulously.

“To Hampton—if you can put up with me a little longer.”

A knowing smile broke over Croyden’s face.

“The Symphony in Blue?” he asked.

“Maybe!—and maybe it is just you. At any rate, I’ll come if I may.”

“My dear Colin! You know you’re more than welcome, always!”

The next afternoon, as Macloud was entering the wide doorway of the Tuscarora Trust Company, he met Elaine Cavendish coming out.

“Stranger! where have you been these many weeks?” she said, giving him her hand.

“Out of town,” he answered. “Did you miss me so much?”

“I did! There isn’t a handy dinner man around, with you and Geoffrey both away. Dine with us this evening, will you?—it will be strictly en famille, for I want to talk business.”

“Wants to talk business!” he thought, as, having accepted, he went on to the coupon department. “It has to do with that beggar Croyden, I reckon.”

And when, the dinner over, they were sitting before the open grate fire, in the big living room, she broached the subject without timidity, or false pride.

Macloud blew a whiff of cigarette smoke into the fire, and waited.

“I, naturally, don’t ask you to violate any confidence,” she went on, “but I fancy you may tell me this: was the particular business in which Geoffrey was engaged, when I saw him in Annapolis, a success or a failure?”

“Why do you ask!” Macloud said. “Did he tell you anything concerning it?”

“Only that his return to Northumberland would depend very much on the outcome.”

“But nothing as to its character?”

“No,” she answered.

“Well, it wasn’t a success; in fact, it was a complete failure.”

“And where is Geoffrey, now?” she asked.

“I do not know,” he replied.

She laughed lightly. “I do not mean, where is he this minute, but where is he in general—where would you address a wire, or a letter, and know that it would be received?”

He threw his cigarette into the grate and lit another.

“I am not at liberty to tell,” he said.

“Then, it is true—he is concealing himself.”

“Not proclaiming himself or his whereabouts to his Northumberland friends, you mean?”

“Friends!” said Macloud. “Are there such things as friends, when one has been unfortunate?”

“I can answer only for myself,” she replied earnestly.

“I believe you, Elaine——”

“Then tell me this—is he in this country or abroad?”

“In this country,” he said, after a pause.

“Is he in want,—I mean, in want for the things he has been used to?”

“He is not in want, I can assure you!—and much that he was used to having, he has no use for, now. Our wants are relative, you know.”

“Why did he leave Northumberland so suddenly?” she asked.

“To reduce expenses. He was forced to give up the old life, so he chose wisely, I think—to go where his income was sufficient for his needs.”

“But is it sufficient?” she demanded.

“He says it is.”

She was silent for a while, staring into the blaze. He did not interrupt—thinking it wise to let her own thoughts shape the way.

“You will not tell me where he is?” she said suddenly, bending her blue eyes hard upon his face.

“This business which you and he were on, in Annapolis—it failed, you say?”

He nodded.

“And is there no chance that it may succeed, some time?”

“He has abandoned it.”

“But may not conditions change—something happen——” she began.

“It is the sort that does not happen. In this case, abandonment spells finis.”

“Did he know, when we were in Annapolis?” she asked.

“On the contrary, he was very sanguine—it looked most promising then.”

Her eyes went back to the flames. He blew ring after ring of smoke, and waited, patiently. He was the friend, he saw, now. He could never hope to be more. Croyden was the lucky fellow—and would not! Well, he had his warning and it was in time. Since she was baring her soul to him, as friend to friend, it was his duty to help her to the utmost of his power.

Suddenly, she uncrossed her knees and sat up.

“I am your friend—use me!” he said, simply.

She arose, and bending swiftly over, kissed him on the cheek.

“Don’t, Elaine,” he said. “I am, also, Geoffrey Croyden’s friend, but there are temptations which mortal man cannot resist.”

“You think so?” she smiled, leaning over the back of his chair, and putting her head perilously close to his—“but I trust you—though I shan’t kiss you again—at least, for the present. Now, you have been so very good about the bonds, I want you to be good some more. Will you, Colin?”

He held his hands before him, to put them out of temptation.

“Ask me to crawl in the grate, and see how quickly I do it!” he declared.

“It might prove my power, but I should lose my friend,” she whispered.

“And that would be inconvenient!” he laughed. “Come, speak up! it’s already granted, that you should know, Elaine.”

“You’re a very sweet boy,” she said, going back to her seat.

“Which needs demonstration. But that you’re a very sweet girl, needs no proof—unless——” looking at her with a meaning smile.

“Would that be proof, think you?” with a sidelong glance.

“Confer smacks of reward for service done,” she said. “Will it bide till then?”

“Not if it may come sooner?”

“Wait—If you choose such pay, the——”

“I choose no pay,” he interrupted.

“Then, the reward will be in kind,” she answered enigmatically. “I want you——” She put one slender foot on the fender, and gazed at it, meditatively, while the firelight stole covert glances at the silken ankles thus exposed. “I want you to purchase for me, from Geoffrey Croyden, at par, his Virginia Development Company bonds,” she said. “You can do it through your broker. I will give you a check, now——”

“Wait!” he said; “wait until he sells——”

“You think he won’t sell?” she inquired.

“I think he will have to be satisfied, first, as to the purchaser—in plain words, that it isn’t either you or I. We can’t give Geoffrey money! The bonds are practically worthless, as he knows only too well.”

“Hum! It’s juggling with the facts—though true on the face,” said Macloud, “but it’s pretty thin ice we’re skating on.”

“You are assuming he suspects or questions. He may take the two hundred thousand and ask no question.”

“You don’t for a moment believe that!” he laughed.

“It is doubtful,” she admitted.

“And you wouldn’t think the same of him, if he did.”

“I admit it!” she said.

“So, we are back to the thin ice. I’ll do what I can; but, you forgot, I am not at liberty to give his address to my brokers. I shall have to take their written offer to buy, and forward it to him, which, in itself will oblige me, at the same time, to tell him that I am not the purchaser.”

“I leave it entirely to you—manage it any way you see fit. All I ask, is that you get him to sell. It’s horrible to think of Geoffrey being reduced to the bare necessities of life—for that’s what it means, when he goes ‘where his income is sufficient for his needs.’”

“You have been there?” she demanded. “You speak of your own knowledge, not from his inferences?”

“I have been there!” he answered.

“And the society—what of it?” she asked quickly.

“Better than our own!” he said, instantly.

“Indeed!” she replied with lifted eye-brows. “Our own in the aggregate or differentiated?”

“In the aggregate!” he laughed; “but quite the equal of our own differentiated. If Croyden were a marrying man—with sufficient income for two—I should give him about six months, at the outside.”

“And how much would you give one with sufficient for two—yourself, for instance?”

“Just long enough to choose the girl—and convince her of the propriety of the choice.”

“And do you expect to join Geoffrey, soon?” meaningly.

“As soon as I can get through here,—probably in a day or two.”

“Then, we may look for the new Mrs. Macloud in time for the holidays, I presume.—Sort of a Christmas gift?”

“You haven’t, yet, chosen?”

“No!—there are so many I didn’t have time to more than look them over. When I go back, I’ll round them up, cut out the most likely, and try to tie and brand her.”

“Colin!” cried Miss Cavendish. “One would think, from your talk, that Geoffrey was in a cowboy camp, with waitresses for society.”

He grinned, and lighted a fresh cigarette.

She tossed him an alluring look.

“And nothing can induce you to tell me the location of the camp?” she implored.

He smoked, a bit, in silence. Should he or should he not?...

“No!—not now!” he said, slowly. “Let us try the bond matter, first. If he sells, I think he will return; if not, I’ll then consider telling.”

“You’re a good fellow, Colin, dear!” she whispered, leaning over and giving his hand an affectionate little pat. “You’re so nice and comfortable to have around—you never misunderstand, nor draw inferences that you shouldn’t.”

“Which means, I’m not to draw inferences now?” he said.

“Nor at any other time,” she remarked.

“And the reward?”

“Will be forthcoming,” with an alluring smile.

“If you can, sir!” whisking it loose, and darting around a table.

“A challenge, is it? Oh, very well!” and he sprang after.

With a swift movement, she swept up her skirts and fled—around chairs, and tables, across rugs, over sofas and couches—always manœuvring to gain the doorway, yet always finding him barring the way;—until, at last, she was forced to refuge behind a huge davenport, standing with one end against the wall.

“Now, will you surrender?” he demanded, coming slowly toward her in the cul de sac.

She shook her head, smiling the while.

“I’ll be merciful,” he said. “It is five steps, until I reach you—One!—Will you yield?”

“No!”

“Two!—will you yield?”

“No!”

“Three!—will you yield?”

“No!”

“Four——”

Quick as thought, she dropped one hand on the back of the davenport; there was a flash of slippers, lingerie and silk, and she was across and racing for the door, now fair before her, leaving him only the echo of a mocking laugh.

“I stop with four,” he said. “I’ll be good for to-night, Elaine—you need have no further fear.”

She tossed her head ever so slightly, while a bantering look came into her eyes.

“I’m not much afraid of you, now—nor any time,” she answered. “But you have more courage than I would have thought, Colin—decidedly more!”

It was evening, when Croyden returned to Hampton—an evening which contained no suggestion of the Autumn he had left behind him on the Eastern Shore. It was raw, and damp, and chill, with the presage of winter in its cold; the leaves were almost gone from the trees, the blackening hand of frost was on flower and shrubbery. As he passed up the dreary, deserted street, the wind was whistling through the branches over head, and moaning around the houses like spirits of the damned.

He turned in at Clarendon—shivering a little at the prospect. He was beginning to appreciate what a winter spent under such conditions meant, where one’s enjoyments and recreations are circumscribed by the bounds of comparatively few houses and few people—people, he suspected, who could not understand what he missed, of the hurly-burly of life and amusement, even if they tried. Their ways were sufficient for them; they were eminently satisfied with what they had; they could not comprehend dissatisfaction in another, and would have no patience with it.

To be sure, Miss Carrington, and Miss Borden, and Miss Lashiel, and Miss Tilghman, would be available, when they were home. But the winter was when they went visiting, he remembered, from late November until early April, and, at that period, the town saw them but little. There was the Hampton Club, of course, but it was worse than nothing—an opportunity to get mellow and to gamble, innocent enough to those who were habituated to it, but dangerous to one who had fallen, by adversity, from better things....

However, Macloud would be there, shortly, thank God! And the dear girls were not going for a week or so, he hoped. And, when the worst came, he could retire to the peacefulness of his library and try to eke out a four months’ existence, with the books, and magazines and papers.

Moses held open the door, with a bow and a flourish, and the lights leaped out to meet him. It was some cheer, at least, to come home to a bright house, a full larder, faithful servants—and supper ready on the table, and tuned to even a Clubman’s taste.

“Yass, seh! her am home, seh, I seed she herse’f dis mornin’ cum down de parf from de front poach wid de dawg, seh.”

Croyden nodded and went across the hall to the telephone.

Miss Carrington, herself, answered his call.—Yes, she intended to be home all evening. She would be delighted to see him and to hear a full account of himself.

He was rather surprised at his own alacrity, in finishing his cigar and changing his clothes—and he wondered whether it was the girl, or the companionship, or the opportunity to be free of himself? A little of all three, he concluded.... But, especially, the girl, as she came from the drawing-room to meet him.

“So you have really returned,” she said, as he bowed over her slender fingers. “We were beginning to fear you had deserted us.”

“You are quite too modest,” he replied. “You don’t appreciate your own attractions.”

The “you” was plainly singular, but she refused to see it.

“Our own attractions require us to be modest,” she returned; “with a—man of the world.”

“Don’t!” he laughed. “Whatever I may have been, I am, now, a man of Hampton.”

She shook her head. “You can never be a man of Hampton.”

“If you live here—take on our ways, our beliefs, our mode of thinking, you may, in a score of years, grow like us, outwardly; but, inwardly, where the true like must start, never!”

“How do we differ?”

“Ask me something easier! You’ve been bred differently, used to different things, to doing them in a different way. We do things slowly, leisurely, with a fine disregard of time, you, with the modern rush, and bustle, and hurry. You are a man of the world—I repeat it—up to the minute in everything—never lagging behind, unless you wish. You never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day. We never do anything to-day that can be put off till to-morrow.”

“And which do you prefer, the to-day or the to-morrow?” he asked.

“It depends on my humor, and my location, at the time—though, I must admit, the to-day makes for thrift, and business, and success in acquiring wealth.”

“And success also in getting rid of it. It is a return toward the primitive condition—the survival of the fittest. There must be losers as well as acquirers.”

“There’s the pity of it!” she exclaimed, “that one must lose in order that another may gain.”

“Oh, Baltimore is only an overgrown country town!” she exclaimed.

“Granted!” he replied. “With half a million population, it is as provincial as Hampton, and thanks God for it—the most smug, self-satisfied, self-sufficient municipality in the land, with its cobblestones, its drains-in-the-gutters, its how much-holier-than-thou air about everything.”

“But it has excellent railway facilities!” she laughed.

“Because it happens to be on the main line between Washington and the North.”

“At least, the people are nice, barring a few mushrooms who are making a great to-do.”

“Yes, the people are delightful!—And, when it comes to mushrooms, Northumberland has Baltimore beaten to a frazzle. We raise a fresh crop every night.”

“Northumberland society must be exceedingly large!” she laughed.

“It is—but it’s not overcrowded. About as many die every day, as are born every night; and, at any rate, they don’t interfere with those who really belong—except to increase prices, and the cost of living, and clog the avenue with automobiles.”

“That is progress!”

“‘Blessed are the lemons on earth, for they shall be peaches in Heaven!’” she quoted.

“What a glorious peach your Miss Erskine will be,” he replied.

“I’m afraid you don’t appreciate the great honor the lady did you, in condescending to view the treasures of Clarendon, and to talk about them afterward. To hear her, she is the most intimate friend you have in Hampton.”

“Good!” he said, “I’m glad you told me. Somehow, I’m always drawing lemons.”

“Am I a lemon?” she asked, abruptly.

“You! do you think you are?”

“One can never know.”

“Have I drawn you?” he inquired.

“Quite immaterial to the question, which is: A lemon or not a lemon?”

“If you could but see yourself at this moment, you would not ask,” he said, looking at her with amused scrutiny.

The lovely face, the blue black hair, the fine figure in the simple pink organdie, the slender ankles, the well-shod feet—a lemon!

“But as I can’t see myself, and have no mirror handy, your testimony is desired,” she insisted. “A lemon or not a lemon?”

“A lemon!” he answered.

“Then you can’t have any objection——”

“——if I take you there for a game of Bridge—shall we go this very evening?”

“If you wish,” he answered.

She laughed. “I don’t wish—and we are growing very silly. Come, tell about your Annapolis trip. You stayed a great while.”

“Something more than three weeks!”

“It’s a queer old town, Annapolis—they call it the ‘Finished City!’ It’s got plenty of landmarks, and relics, but nothing more. If it were not for the State Capitol and Naval Academy, it would be only a lot of ruins, lost in the sand. In midsummer, it’s absolutely dead. No one on the streets, no one in the shops, no one any place.—Deserted—until there’s a fire. Then you should see them come out!”

“That is sufficiently expressed!” laughed Croyden. “But, with the autumn and the Academy in session, the town seemed very much alive. We sampled ‘Cheney’s Best,’ Wegard’s Cakes, and saw the Custard-and-Cream Chapel.”

“You’ve been to Annapolis, sure!” she replied. “There’s only one thing more—did you see Paul Jones?”

He shook his head. “We missed him.”

“Which isn’t surprising. You can’t find him without the aid of a detective or a guide.”

“Then, who ever finds him?”

“And why didn’t we finish the work?” said Croyden. “Why bring him here, with the attendant expense, and then stop, just short of completion? Why didn’t we inter him in the Chapel (though, God save me from burial there), or any place, rather than on trestles under a stairway in a midshipmen’s dormitory?”

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” he observed, “but it’s hard luck to have one’s bones disturbed, after more than a hundred years of tranquillity, to be conveyed clear across the Atlantic, to be orated over, and sermonized over, and, then, to be flung aside like old junk and forgot. However, we have troubles of our own—I know I have—more real than Paul Jones! He may be glad he’s dead, so he won’t have any to worry over. In fact, it’s a good thing to be dead—one is saved from a heap of worry.”

She looked at him, without replying.

“What’s the use?” he said. “A daily struggle to procure fuel sufficient to keep up the fire.”

“What’s the use of anything! Why not make an end of life, at once?” she asked.

“Sometimes, I’m tempted,” he admitted. “It’s the leap in the dark, and no returning, that restrains, I reckon—and the fact that we must face it alone. Otherwise——”

She laughed softly. “Otherwise death would have no terrors! You have begged the question, or what amounts to it. But, to return to Annapolis; what else did you see?”

“You have been there?”

“Many times.”

She half closed her eyes and looked at him through the long lashes.

“What were you doing down on Greenberry Point?” she demanded.

“How did you know?” he asked, surprised.

“Oh! very naturally. I was in Annapolis—I saw your name on the register—I inquired—and I had the tale of the camp. No one, however, seemed to think it queer!” laughing.

“Why should they? Camping out is entirely natural,” Croyden answered.

“With the Chairman of the Senate Committee on Naval Affairs?”

“We were in his party!”

“A party which until five days ago he had not joined—at least, so the Superintendent told me, when I dined at his house. He happened to mention your name, found I knew you—and we gossiped. Perhaps we shouldn’t, but we did.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“Nothing! he didn’t seem even to wonder at your being there——”

“But you did?”

“It’s the small town in me, I suppose—to be curious about other people and their business; and it was most suspicious.”

“What was most suspicious?” he asked.

“You should be a story teller!” he laughed. “Your imagination is marvelous. With a series of premises, you can reach whatever conclusion you wish—you’re not bound by the probabilities.”

“You’re simply obscuring the point,” she insisted. “In this instance, my premises are facts which are not controverted. You admit them to be correct. So, why? Why?——” She held up her hand. “Don’t answer! I’m not asking for information. I don’t want to be told. I’m simply ‘chaffing of you,’ don’t you know!”

“With just a lingering curiosity, however,” he added.

“A casual curiosity, rather,” she amended.

“My dear Mr. Croyden, I don’t wish to know. It was a mistake to refer to it. I should simply have forgot what I heard in Annapolis—I’ll forget now, if you will permit.”

“By no means, Miss Carrington. You can’t forget, if you would—and I would not have you, if you could. Moreover, I inherited it along with Clarendon, and, as you were my guide to the place, it’s no more than right that you should know. I think I shall confide in you—no use to protest, it’s got to come!” he added.

“You are determined?—Very well, then, come over to the couch in the corner, where we can sit close and you can whisper.”

He arose, with alacrity. She put out her hand and led him—and he suffered himself to be led.

“Now!” when they were seated, “you may begin. Once upon a time——” and laughed, softly. “I’ll take this, if you’ve no immediate use for it,” she said, and released her hand from his.

“For the moment,” he said. “I shall want it back, presently, however.”

“Do you, by any chance, get all you want?” she inquired.

“Alas! no! Else I would have kept what I already had.”

She put her hands behind her, and faced around.

“Begin, sir!” she said. “Begin! and try to be serious.”

She looked at him, with a tantalizing smile.

“Won’t it be enough, if I am here when you return?” she asked.

When he came out on the piazza the rain had ceased, the clouds were gone, the temperature had fallen, and the stars were shining brightly in a winter sky.

He strode quickly down the walk to the street and crossed it diagonally to his own gates. As he passed under the light, which hung near the entrance, a man walked from the shadow of the Clarendon grounds and accosted him.

“Mr. Croyden, I believe?” he said.

Croyden halted, abruptly, just out of distance.

“Croyden is my name?” he replied, interrogatingly.

“With your permission, I will accompany you to your house—to which I assume you are bound—for a few moments’ private conversation.”

“Concerning what?” Croyden demanded.

“Concerning a matter of business.”

“My business or yours?”

“Both!” said the man, with a smile.

“I’m not in the habit of discussing business with strangers, at night, nor of taking them to my house,” he answered, brusquely. “If you have anything to say to me, say it now, and be brief. I’ve no time to waste.”

“Some one may hear us,” the man objected.

“Let them—I’ve no objection.”

“Pardon me, but I think, in this matter, you would have objection.”

“You’ll say it quickly, and here, or not at all,” snapped Croyden.

The man shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s scarcely a subject to be discussed on the street,” he observed, “but, if I must, I must. Did you ever hear of Robert Parmenter? Oh! I see that you have! Well, the business concerns a certain letter—need I be more explicit?”

“If you wish to make your business intelligible.”

The fellow shrugged his shoulders again.

“As you wish,” he said, “though it only consumes time, and I was under the impression that you were in a hurry. However: To repeat—the business concerns a letter, which has to do with a certain treasure buried long ago, on Greenberry Point, by the said Robert Parmenter. Do I make myself plain, now, sir?”

The man smiled imperturbably, and went on:

“The letter in question having come into your possession recently, you, with two companions, spent three weeks encamped on Greenberry Point, ostensibly for your health, or the night air, or anything else that would deceive the Naval authorities. During which time, you dug up the entire Point, dragged the waters immediately adjoining—and then departed, very strangely choosing for it a time of storm and change of weather. My language is intelligible, thus far?”

Croyden nodded—rather amused. Evidently, the thieves had managed to communicate with a confederate, and this was a hold-up. They assumed he had been successful.

“Therefore, it is entirely reasonable to suppose that your search was not ineffectual. In plain words, you have recovered the treasure.”

The man paused, waiting for an answer.

Croyden only smiled, and waited, too.

“Very good!—we will proceed,” said the stranger. “The jewels were found on Government land. It makes no difference whether recovered on the Point or on the Bay—the law covering treasure trove, I am informed, doesn’t apply. The Government is entitled to the entire find, it being the owner in fee of the land.”

“You talk like a lawyer!” said Croyden.

“And how to avoid it,” Croyden interjected.

The other bowed again.

“And also how to prevent others from avoiding it,” he replied, suggestively. “Let us take up that phase, if it please you.”

“And if it doesn’t please?” asked Croyden, suppressing an inclination to laugh.

“Then let us take it up, any way—unless you wish to forfeit your find to the Government.”

“Proceed!” said Croyden. “We are arriving, now, at the pith of the matter. What do you offer?”

“We want an equal divide. We will take Parmenter’s estimate and multiply it by two, though jewels have appreciated more than that in valuation. Fifty thousand pounds is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which will total, according to the calculation, half a million dollars,—one half of which amount you pay us as our share.”

“Your share! Why don’t you call it properly—blackmail?” Croyden demanded.

“As you wish!” the other replied, airily. “If you prefer blackmail to share, it will not hinder the contract—seeing that it is quite as illegal on your part as on ours. Share merely sounds a little better but either obtains the same end. So, suit yourself. Call it what you will—but pay.”

“Pay—or what?”

“Thunder! how you do roll it out!” laughed Croyden. “Get on! man, get on!”

“I was endeavoring to state the matter succinctly,” the stranger replied, refusing to be hurried or flustered. “The Common Law and the practice of the Treasury Department provide, that all treasure found on Government land or within navigable waters, is Government property. If declared by the finder, immediately, he shall be paid such reward as the Secretary may determine. If he does not declare, and is informed on, the informer gets the reward. You will observe that, under the law, you have forfeited the jewels—I fancy I do not need to draw further deductions.”

“No!—it’s quite unnecessary,” Croyden remarked. “Your fellow thieves went into that phase (good word, I like it!) rather fully, down on Greenberry Point. Unluckily, they fell into the hands of the police, almost immediately, and we have not been able to continue the conversation.”

“I have the honor to continue the conversation—and, in the interim, you have found the treasure. So, Parmenter’s letter won’t be essential—the facts, circumstances, your own and Mr. Macloud’s testimony, will be sufficient to prove the Government’s case. Then, as you are aware, it’s pay or go to prison for larceny.”

The man laughed, good-humoredly.

“Naturally!” he replied. “We don’t ask you to acknowledge the finding—just pay over the quarter of a million and we will forget everything.”

“My good man, I’m speaking the truth!” Croyden answered. “Maybe it’s difficult for you to recognize, but it’s the truth, none the less. I only wish I had the treasure—I think I’d be quite willing to share it, even with a blackmailer!”

The man laughed, again.

“I trust it will give no offence if I say I don’t believe you.”

“You can believe what you damn please!” Croyden retorted.

And, without more ado, he turned his back and went up the path to Clarendon.