Front matter (continued 3)

Mine showed a less frantic disposition. Though it quaked and shook like a man in an ague fit, it stood its ground and allowed me to bring my heavy rifle to bear upon the furious brute as it came by.

Away darted M'ngulu's terrified horse, making better pace than ever it had made before this day, straining every nerve to keep ahead of the mad brute behind it. Even old M looked a little nervous, I thought, glancing back over his shoulder at the pursuing "rogue," and shouting something to me as he flew by. I did not catch what he said. The elephant was distinctly closer to his horse's heels now, than when, a few minutes ago, they had disappeared in the jungle, and it certainly seemed to me that it gained at every stride; no wonder poor M looked nervous. A considerable responsibility attached to my shot, I felt; for if I could not stop the brute he would undoubtedly have M or his horse in another minute unless they contrived to dodge him.

I could still hear Jack's horse crashing away in the distance, and Jack's voice remonstrating with it very loudly and heartily; there was no help to be expected from him in this crisis.

All this takes so long to describe, while the thoughts themselves passed like lightning through the brain.

I brought my rifle to bear upon the brute as well as I could for the trembling of my horse, and pulled the trigger just as it passed within thirty yards of me, aiming for its heart, which I hoped and believed was to be found just outside the top of the shoulder. I pulled both triggers at once, feeling that this was a crisis, and that I should not get another chance of putting two heavy balls in at a favourable distance and in a vulnerable spot.

The immediate effect of my shot was twofold. In the first place, the recoil of the rifle from the double discharge was so great and unexpected as to cause me to lose my balance and fall backwards clean out of the saddle. That was the effect as it concerned myself. As for the elephant, it stopped short in its career, falling forward upon its knees, and smashing both of its fine tusks with the concussion.

For a moment I fancied that I had killed it outright at a shot; but the next I discovered that this was far from being the case, for in an instant the great beast struggled to its feet and looked about it with the nastiest expression in its eyes that ever disfigured the optics of man or brute. Blood streamed down its side, but not from the shoulder or near it; I had missed my mark by a good foot, and wounded it in the ribs—badly no doubt, but not in such a manner as to render it immediately harmless.

I had fallen off my horse, as I explained, and was at this moment behind it, with one foot in the stirrup, about to remount, watching the elephant over the top of the saddle, uncertain whether it would be wiser to trust to my horse's legs or my own; and whether, indeed, there would be time to mount and get under way before the brute discovered us and charged.

The elephant did not allow much opportunity for reflection. He turned his head in our direction as soon as he was upon his feet, and of course saw my terrified horse.

Up went his trunk, out went his great ears, forth bellowed his scream of rage. Silenced as he had been, for a moment or two, by the sudden shock of his wound and his fall, he was doubly furious and vindictive now by reason of the pain he had been caused, and in less time than is occupied by the pious British man who calls at need upon his patron saint, Jack Robinson, the great animal was in full descent upon my horse.

CHAPTER XXII

I AM MOURNED FOR DEAD

My steed was doomed; that was clear enough, for it still stood, helpless and terrified, rooted to the spot and quaking with abject, nerveless fear. Apparently terror had completely bereft it of the power to move, for from the moment (only half a minute ago, in spite of all this talk and telling!) when it caught sight of the "rogue" in full pursuit of M'ngulu until now, it had stood with forefeet apart, ears cocked forward, eyes and nostrils dilated, trembling and snorting, and insensible to direction from the saddle.

As for me, seeing that my horse was doomed, and that if I had still been mounted I should probably have shared its fate, I thanked Heaven for my escape and sprang back into the bush without further ado, leaving the poor brute to its evil destiny. Safe behind a dense, thorny bush I was free to reload my rifle and watch, if I desired it, the elephant's behaviour with regard to his victim.

This was not a very pleasant sight, and the idea of what would have become of me had I remained in the saddle, trying to get the horse to move, until too late, made me quite faint. It is enough to say that when the "rogue" had done with the poor beast there was not an unbroken bone in its body; for he had knelt upon it, danced upon it with his huge feet, gored it with the stumps of his tusks, thrown it hither and thither, and torn it to bits with his trunk, and, in a word, vented upon it an abandonment of fury which was absolutely terrific to behold.

So quickly did he perform his work, in the madness of his rage, that I, who was obliged to set to work cautiously and with little movement for fear of attracting his attention, had not finished loading my rifle when the second act of the tragedy began.

It was M'ngulu who reappeared next upon the boards. He came galloping up, wailing and weeping at full voice, under the impression, I suppose, that I had fallen a victim as well as my horse; and as he dashed past the elephant's nose, he first spat at it and cursed it, and then fired off his rifle in a very "promiscuous" manner, one handed. This, though it did not injure the elephant, served to enrage him yet further; and involved M'ngulu in a second race for life.

Of this race and of its upshot I was not a witness, for our good nigger and the raging "rogue" at his heels passed immediately out of my sight, and it was only when I heard in the distance first one shot and then two more that I knew where to look for the hunt. Having now reloaded my rifle, I felt justified in rejoining the chase on foot; and careered away at my best pace in the direction of the shooting. I presently encountered both Jack and the nigger galloping back to meet me so rapidly that I thought at first they were pursued, and hid myself behind a tree in order to save my own skin and perhaps get a telling shot as the brute passed me. But there was no elephant, and M'ngulu was weeping and wailing, and Jack's face looked white and scared and haggard.

"Jack!" I shouted as the pair rode by. "Hold on a bit! Where's the?"—

Jack pulled up in a instant, so did M, who ceased wailing on the spot, and, jumping off his horse, commenced dancing around Jack and me in a manner that made me suspect for a moment that the madness of the elephant had infected him.

"Good Heavens, man!" cried Jack, "I thought you were done for. This fool of a nigger has been telling me you were dead—'White man Peter dead—kill,' he has been saying, and crying and wailing fit to raise the dead."

"I wish he could raise my dead horse," I said; and I described to Jack my own escape.

"Great scissors!" cried Jack. And for some little time such foolish and unmeaning expressions as "Cæsar!" "Snakes alive!" "Scissors!" and so on were the only remarks I could get my friend to make.

"I don't know which was the bigger fool," he said at last, "your horse that wouldn't go or mine that wouldn't stay. This fool of a beast of mine took me half a mile away before he would consent to return, and I only got a look in at the hunt then thanks to old M here, who kindly brought the elephant to me as I was not allowed to go to the elephant."

"Still," I said, "I think your horse was less of a fool than mine under the circumstances. It's no fault of my poor brute that I was not made jam of by that raging beast. By the bye, I suppose you killed it between you, as you are here and the elephant is not?"

"He's dead," said Jack. "You made two good holes in him, but in the wrong place. M'ngulu brought him by me, and I put in a lovely bull's-eye in the forehead. He went down like a sheep, but struggled upon his knees again. Then I put in a second near the same spot, and M fired off his piece and nearly knocked my cap off—he never went near the elephant. He is a free cannonader, is M; I don't think we'll give him rifles to hold in future, Peter—at least, not loaded ones."

We were now at the scene of the bad elephant's demise, and Jack showed me where he had stood, and where M'ngulu, and how it had all happened. M's bullet had really passed very close to Jack's head, it appeared, for the tree trunk was splintered by it a foot or two above the spot where Jack had been standing.

There lay the "bad 'un," terrible even in death; a big, vicious, mangy, bony, ungainly elephant as ever went mad and was expelled by a respectable herd. His tusks had been good, but they were spoiled by his first fall, and though we collected the pieces, and M deftly dug out the roots, they were useless as specimens. We made them over to M, however, who sold them, I daresay, for a good price.

After this we shot two or three other elephants before returning southwards; but in each case it being we who hunted them and not they us, as in the instance of the "bad 'un," the record of our achievements would be uninteresting in comparison, and I shall leave the tale of them to the imagination of my readers, who know well enough how the thing is done, and resume the thread of our history proper, which must be pursued without further digressions; and those who have skipped the hunting adventures may now read on in the certainty that the Treasure business will in future be strictly "attended to," and that they will not be called upon to skip again, unless, indeed, it be from pure excitement in the incidents of the legitimate story of the hidden money.

Had we known it, we were on the brink, even now, of a very terrible incident indeed.

CHAPTER XXIII

A RUDE AWAKENING

Our hunting trip over, Jack and I left M'ngulu, our Somali hunter, and the nigger driver in charge of the ox-waggon, which was to follow us at leisure to Vryburg. On their arrival we purposed to sell oxen and horses and waggon, pay off our men, and depart by train for Cape Town, thence to England, and thence again to our new treasure island in the Gulf of Finland.

As on our ride from Vryburg, we now took nothing with us excepting our light rifles and ammunition, our one remaining revolver, brandy, blankets, a small supply of tinned food, and two small kegs of water (of which we had learned the necessity by the bitter experience of our two days' waterless wanderings in the jungle near Ngami).

It was but a hundred or so of miles to Vryburg, but we were determined to enjoy the return ride thoroughly, and to keep ourselves in food by the way through the medium of our rifles, though we did not look to have anything in the way of adventures, since our friends James Strong and Clutterbuck were no longer by to afford us the excitement of a race to the treasure ground, with its added interest of possible shots from behind or from an ambush.

I cannot say that I was sorry to feel that Strong was well out of the way, and probably half-way to England by now. I do not like the feeling, when travelling, that every tree may have an enemy behind it, only waiting for an opportunity to put a bullet into you as you come along. I am a plain man, and like a quiet manner of travelling best—the civilised kind, without the excitement of ambushes and cock-shots, and so on.

We did not go far each day, for there was no hurry. M'ngulu and the nigger were going to spend a few days at Ngami, to rest the oxen, before starting after us; but we ourselves would rather pass our time in the veldt than at Vryburg. So we hunted antelopes, and shot all manner of birds that looked queer but tasted excellent, and we camped out at night, and enjoyed life amazingly, as any two young Britons would under similar circumstances; for we had had a successful and delightful hunting expedition, and we were on our way home to England with the secret of the treasure safely buttoned up in our breast pockets; the object of our journey had been attained; the present moment was full of delight—what could any man desire more than this?

We were no longer afraid of lions at night. As a matter of fact, they were rare enough so far south, and in all probability the one we had shot at Ngami, before the waggon reached us, was the same animal which had captured and devoured poor Strong, junior, that terrible night at the treasure field. There were plenty farther north, as we well knew. But now we were thirty or forty miles south of Ngami, and on the highroad to Vryburg, and there was not much danger of a night surprise from any of our old friends.

Hence we were somewhat careless when on the watch over the camp fire. Nominally we still took our sleep in turn and watched during the interval; but as a matter of fact, the function of watching was honoured by us in the breach more than in the observance, and it often happened that we both slept soundly for hours together. Thus when, on the fourth night, a most unexpected and alarming surprise broke over us, like a thunderclap from a clear sky, we found that we had been living in a fool's paradise.

For once, old Jack—generally so much more to be depended upon than I, being a more gifted person all round, and infinitely smarter and more wide awake than your humble servant, the present scribe—old Jack, the acute, was caught napping. It was his watch, and he ought, undoubtedly, to have been awake—wide awake. Instead of that he was asleep—fast asleep—when, as he described the event afterwards, he was awakened by being stirred in the ribs by someone's foot.

Assuming that it was I who took this liberty with him, Jack lashed out with his own foot, and hacked someone violently upon the shin, eliciting an oath which, I am glad to say, Jack instantly realised could not have proceeded from lips so refined as mine.

"Come, sit up!" said a strange and yet familiar voice, with added expletives which I omit. It may be taken as understood that in the subsequent conversation there was an oath to every three words of one of the speakers, for this was a person who, I may tell you, was quite unable to speak the Queen's English without a large admixture of strong language: there are such people—more than are needed.

Jack opened his eyes with a start, and recognised James Strong. Then he twisted round and felt for his rifle, which lay at his side ready for emergency; but he could not find it.

Strong, who held a revolver in his left hand, laughed aloud.

"No, no," he said; "I've seen to it; you taught me that trick, you know. See there!"

Jack followed Strong's eyes to the fire, and there he beheld the butts of our two rifles blazing merrily among the twigs and logs.

"Burn nicely, don't they?" said Strong. "Now chuck that revolver of yours in. No, no! none of that, my lad; if you turn the muzzle anything like in my direction I shoot. I can get mine off long before yours is pointed my way. Drop it out of the pouch, anyhow it comes. You needn't touch it. Open the pouch and shake it out—so!"

Jack was obliged to obey, for Strong's revolver covered him all the time, and Strong was a man to shoot in a moment if it suited him. Jack's revolver fell at his feet.

"Kick it towards me!" said Strong, and Jack was obliged to do so. Strong kicked it into the fire.

"Now then," he said, "that little matter being settled, hand me up the letter you took from Clutterbuck's tin box."

"I haven't it," said Jack; "Godfrey has it."

"Turn out your pockets," said Strong. "You took a copy; I saw you do it. Now, please, no shilly shally—out with everything."

Strong turned over with his foot the few articles which Jack produced from the pocket of his Norfolk jacket. The copy of our precious document was not there.

"Take off that waistcoat," said Strong; "Or, stay, what do I care where you have hidden the blessed thing? Look here, I give you one minute to produce it."

There was nothing to be done. Poor Jack was obliged to reveal the secret places of his waistcoat lining, and to bring out the required document. What else could he do? The man with the revolver is bound to have the last word. If I had been awake, instead of sleeping like a pig by the fire, we might have had him; as it was, Jack was at his mercy.

"Now," said Strong, "go away into the bush; step out one hundred yards, and stay there while I negotiate this snoring tomfool here!"

Jack, feeling, as he said afterwards, that a worm would have appeared a dignified creature in comparison with himself, stepped out his hundred yards, or pretended to; as a matter of fact he remained behind a thorn bush about seventy paces away, determined to rush in at any risk if the fellow threatened me any harm.

Then Strong woke me as he had awakened Jack, by stirring me with his foot, and I am thankful to think that I too "landed him one" for his trouble; for I lashed out just as Jack did, and my foot certainly encountered some portion of his frame, and as certainly elicited flowers of speech which I omit.

"Come, get up!" he said sulkily; "the game's played out."

I started to my feet, feeling for my rifle; it was gone, as the reader knows. Only half awake, I stared at Strong; then I looked round for Jack, who had disappeared.

Strong's revolver covered me all the while, just as he had held Jack in peril of instant death.

"Jack!" I screamed. I do not know what I thought. I believe I had an awful fear that Strong had murdered and buried him. "Jack, where are you?" To my intense relief Jack shouted back—

"All right, Peter; do as he tells you, just now!"

Strong laughed loudly, and swore atrociously.

"D'you hear that?" he said. "You are to do just as I tell you; the captain says so. If you don't, your brains will fly in about two seconds. Your rifles are burnt, so is your revolver; your smart friend wasn't quite acute enough to-night, and he's a prisoner. Hand up the letter, or cheque, or bank order, or whatever it may be that you took out of Clutterbuck's tin box that night. You thought I was asleep, curse you, but that's where you spoiled yourselves."

I handed Strong the document he asked for. "There goes," I thought, "my chance of the treasure!"

Strong glanced at it and pocketed the paper.

"Any bank-notes in that pocket-book?" he said; "if so, hand them over." I had thirty pounds in cash, which he took. I had subscribed the rest to make up Clutterbuck's two hundred pounds.

"Now," resumed Strong, "if you move a finger while I'm in sight I shoot. Come, hands up! Stand!"

He left me standing like a confounded statue, with my hands over my head. Then he laughed, swore a disgusting oath at me, loosened the bridle of his horse, which was tied to a tree quite close at hand, and started to ride away.

CHAPTER XXIV

STRONG SPRINTS AND GAINS A LAP

Jack was at my side in a moment.

"Quick," he whispered "let's mount and be after him; I shall never be happy again until I have kicked that fellow within an inch of his grave!"

We dashed into the wood for our horses—they were not where we had left them. Of course they were not; the man would have been a fool to leave us our horses—we might have raced into Vryburg before him, and got him arrested! Strong was about as perfect an example of a scoundrel as you would find in Africa or any other continent, but no fool!

We stood and stamped and murdered our native language, diving to the lowest depths of our vocabularies for expressions of hatred and rage and of abuse, and the promise of future dire vengeance. We still stood and raged, when suddenly Strong came riding back.

"You have disobeyed orders," he said; "don't blame me for enforcing discipline. Go back to your place, you—Henderson, or whatever your name is!—hands up, you other!"

"I shall have it out of you, one day, for this, you infernal scoundrel," said Jack, whose temper was now beyond his control. "Get down and fight me on the ground—you may have your revolver, I'll use my fists."

"You fool!" rejoined Strong with an oath; "a man does not ask a leopard to spit out his teeth before attacking him. Go back to your place, I tell you, or I fire!"

Jack did not move.

"You are a murderer already," he said, "and you know it. What have you done with Clutterbuck and his money, you scoundrel? That's his pistol you hold; do you think I don't know it? Never fear, you shall hang one day, my friend!"

For answer James Strong fired his revolver straight at Jack's head. I do not think he had intended from the beginning to murder us. Either he had calculated that his plans would work out without the need of killing us; or he had reflected that his own skin would be the safer, when in England, if he spared ours; for inquiries would certainly be set on foot if Henderson disappeared though few would know or care whether poor I disappeared or not.

But when Jack accused him of murdering Clutterbuck, his comrade—a crime which in all probability he had actually committed, though Jack only drew his bow at a venture—Strong changed his mind and suddenly determined that it would be the safer plan to shoot us both down. Accordingly, he first fired at Jack and missed him clean. Then he fired another shot and missed again, and swore, and turned his pistol on me and fired three shots at me; at the third I fell, feeling a sharp pain in my shin-bone—my leg would not support me.

Jack had drawn a log from the fire and was about to hurl it at Strong when he fired his last shot, at Jack this time, and rode away into the grey of the early morning, before the last named could launch his clumsy missile at him. The shooting of the six shots did not occupy altogether more than ten seconds.

Jack sprang to my side, white and terrified.

"For Heaven's sake, Peter, where are you hurt?" he gasped. "Can you speak? Are you dying? Where is the pain?"

"My leg," I said, writhing, for the pain was very severe. "It's only a broken leg—but it'll lose us the race!"

As a matter of fact, my leg was not broken, as the term is generally understood—there was no bone setting required; but the bullet had carried away a splinter of my shin-bone, having all but missed me, but taking, as it were, a little bite out of me as it passed.

Nevertheless, trivial as the wound was, this misfortune delayed us three weeks at Vryburg; for though Jack doctored me with all the devotion and skill that he could command, the weather was hot, and I suppose there were some wretched little bacilli about of the kind "to play old gooseberry with open wounds," as Jack learnedly expressed it; for my shin became very painful and inflamed before we reached Vryburg, and I was obliged to take to my bed at the hotel there and remain in it for a tantalising spell of three weeks.

As for our journey to Vryburg, I performed it in the waggon. Jack carried me, or half carried me, back to a village on the highroad which we had passed through on the previous evening without stopping, and there we awaited the arrival of the waggon, sleeping in a native hut and collecting, I suppose, the bacilli that were destined to play the part with my wound which Jack described as "old gooseberry." Had we stayed in that village on the previous evening we should have learned that a white man had been living in the place for a month, waiting for friends to come down from Bulawayo, and that he was living there still. This was, of course, our friend Strong, who had deliberately waited a month for us, in ambush, and had sallied after us when we passed through, and caught us napping, as described, over our camp fire.

But we learned another significant fact bearing upon this matter. When the white man originally came to the village a month ago, he was, we were told, accompanied by a friend who lived with him in a hut which the white men made for themselves. But after about a week the little white man disappeared, and the big white man explained that he had gone on to Cape Town, being tired of waiting.

But after another week—that is, a fortnight ago—Umgubi, who was a kind of village herdsman, and looked after the cattle belonging to the chief men of the place, came upon the body of the little white man in a nullah with steep banks two miles or so off the road. Then the big white man said that the little one must have gone astray and fallen down into the nullah, or else an eland or some other big animal had attacked him and pushed him down; and all the natives of the village said that he must have terribly offended his gods for so great a misfortune to have happened to him, and that doubtless an eland had pushed him over into the nullah, or else he had fallen over by himself without the eland.

Only, if that was the case, said our informant innocently, why was there a bullet-hole in the back of his head!

It was when M'ngulu and the nigger had arrived with our waggon and translated the tale for us that we heard the details of this story of Strong's villainy; and I may honestly say that, though shocked to hear of poor Clutterbuck's end, I was not altogether surprised. It was a comfort to think that we had done our best for him by furnishing him with a pistol, while Strong was left quite unarmed. If Clutterbuck, with so great an advantage, was unable to retain the upper hand, there could be, after all, no one to blame but himself.

How Strong dispossessed him of the revolver; by what stratagem or plausible arguments or threats he succeeded in persuading Clutterbuck to part with all that stood between himself and his murderous companion; and how, when he had obtained the weapon, he used it for his fell purpose, will, I suppose, never be known. Perhaps the dark tale of deceit and murder will be revealed at the last tribunal of all; but it is certain that the tragedy must remain one of the mysteries in this life.

Meanwhile, where was the murderer? Half-way towards Hogland and my hundred thousand pounds?

As for ourselves, we determined to collect what evidence we could in order to bring the miscreant before the judges at Cape Town, if we could catch him there; but events proved that the fox was not to be so easily run to earth as we had hoped.

To this end we telegraphed from Vryburg, just a week after our own interview with James Strong, explaining that we had evidence of his connection with a murder, and giving his name and appearance.

But when, three weeks later, we reached Cape Town, we found to our disappointment that the police had utterly failed to find Strong. No person of that name, or answering to the description, had either been seen or had taken passage by any of the late steamers bound for home. The nearest approach to our description of the man "wanted" was of one Julius Stavenhagen, who had sailed in the Conway Castle before our telegram was delivered.

Jack and I looked at one another on receiving this information. If this were Strong himself—and we had a firm conviction that such was the case—then he had not only escaped just chastisement for his crime, but he had also obtained a three weeks' start of us in the race for Clutterbuck's Treasure.

CHAPTER XXV

LAPPED, BUT STILL IN THE RACE

It may strike some of those who read this narrative that, considering the fact that we had (in a cowardly manner, as they may deem it, and with far too much regard for the safety of our skins) surrendered to James Strong not only our invaluable map of the spot to which we were directed by old Clutterbuck's "message from the tomb," but also the copy of that document which we had been prudent enough to make in case of emergency—that, considering these facts, it did not really matter very much whether Strong sailed for England with one day's start of us or one year's; for he now possessed every available clue to the discovery of the treasure, while we had none whatever.

Our game was played out and lost. Strong had won. We might sail for England to-morrow or this day five years, but James Strong would now both possess himself of and retain the hundred thousand pounds for which we had toiled and travelled and suffered, simply because we were ignorant where to look for either the treasure or for him.

Yet this was not the case, for we—Jack and I—had been in this matter craftier than the fox and wiser than the eagle; and each independently of the other, too.

We discovered this on the morning after Strong's checkmate of us, as I lay by our camp fire, when, intending to spring a mine of surprise and delight upon Jack, I started bewailing the shipwreck of our hopes to find the treasure. Strong had stolen from us, with fiendish cunning, both the plan and the copy. I dwelt upon this disastrous fact because I intended presently to send Jack into ecstasies of admiration for my sagacity by informing him that it did not really matter a bit, seeing that I had committed the whole letter to memory, and knew by heart every jot and tittle of plan and instructions.

But Jack spoiled my little game by saying—

"Oh, I don't think you need worry, old man, about the loss of the 'message from the tomb.'"

"Why not?" I asked.

"I know it by heart," he said, "every word of it; and the plan too—I could draw it exactly. Look here!"

This was disappointing, for I really had thought I was going to score for once over my acute one!

However, we praised one another, and came unanimously to the conclusion that any two foxes would have to take a back seat for cunning if he and I were to drop treasure hunting and take to robbing farmyards! And that is how it came about that the loss of our papers was not so serious a disaster for us as it might have been if we had been "other than we were"—i.e. less clever.

So three weeks after Mr. Julius Stavenhagen's departure, or, if you prefer it, Mr. James Strong's, Jack Henderson and I sailed at last from Cape Town; a bad second, of course, but still not without hope that Strong might hitherto have failed to find the treasure when we should have reached the island of Hogland, or Hochland; indeed, it might even prove that, fearing lest we should have remembered the name of the island, he might have hesitated to visit the place at all, in case we should follow and denounce him for the murderer he was.

I did not greatly rely on this last faint hope, however, for Strong was not the kind of man to surrender an undoubted advantage for any consideration of craven expediency. He would rather occupy the island of Hogland, and shoot us if we appeared to disturb him; and that was what we must look out for, supposing that we ever found the island with Strong in possession.

"It would simply amount to a shooting match in that case," said Jack; and I think he just about expressed it.

My leg was quite cured by this time, and my only trouble on the voyage to England was that the Bangor Castle, which is one of the fastest passenger steamers afloat, did not travel quickly enough. I was beginning to consume my soul in anxiety to be even with James Strong for his smart trick upon us, and to be "one point ahead" in the matter of the treasure.

But we reached England in due time, and I journeyed straight up north to Hull, in order to lose not a moment in making arrangements for our departure; while Jack took the train at Paddington for Gloucestershire, binding himself first by a solemn promise to come up north the instant I telegraphed for him.

My faithful old friend had vowed to see me through with this treasure hunt, and declared, moreover, that he considered himself under a solemn obligation to discover James Strong and see him thoroughly well hanged for his misdeeds.

So away went Jack for Gloucestershire, and I travelled northwards to Hull and interviewed without delay the shipowners, Messrs. Wilcox, who, I found, ran a line of regular steamers from this port to St. Petersburg and Cronstadt. And first I inquired, with not a little anxiety as to the reply, whether there really existed in the Gulf of Finland any such island as Hogland. The clerk's answer was encouraging.

"Why, certainly!" he said. "Here, Captain Edwards, you can tell this gentleman all about what he wants to know far better than I can. Captain Edwards has just returned from a trip to Cronstadt, and must have passed this very Hogland a few days since."

"At five forty-five last Sunday afternoon," said the captain, a quiet and most gentlemanly little man, who, I was afterwards to learn, was a pronounced favourite not only with his employers but also with every passenger who had the good luck to take the trip in his fine steamer, the Thomas Wilcox.

"Do passengers ever land there?" was my next question.

"Well, they don't get a chance, as a matter of fact," said Captain Edwards; "for we never stop. There is nothing particularly attractive in the island to cause passengers to wish to land and explore it. Stay, though; I have heard of one visitor to the place—in fact, I took him off the island eventually, though it was not I that landed him."

"Not just now—this month?" I blurted. The communication gave me a shock, for it struck me that the passenger referred to could be no other than James Strong, who, if he had already visited and left the island, must have taken the treasure with him.

"Now? Dear, no!" said Edwards. "Four years since, at least—if not five. An old fellow—cracky, I should say. He gave out on board the Rinaldo, tripping from Hull to Cronstadt, that he was in search of an island to bury treasure in, and asked to be landed in Hogland when he passed it. You remember the story, Mr. Adams?"

Mr. Adams laughed, and said he had heard about it.

I laughed too, to hide my deeper emotions. This was delightful confirmation of my best hopes!

"Was he landed there?" I asked. The captain's first words rather staggered me.

"No, he wasn't," he replied. "He couldn't be without permission from the Russian Government. But he went on to St. Petersburg, got his permission, and was landed by the Rinaldo on her return journey. I took him off and brought him home. Dotty, I should say, decidedly. He was in the rarest spirits, and declared that he had tricked his blackguards of heirs, as he called them. They were not going to touch his money, he said, before they had sweated a bit to earn it—just as he had. Nobody believed he had a farthing to leave. He was dressed like a pauper, and disputed his steward's bill."

Nothing could have portrayed my late revered acquaintance more realistically than these words.

"It's sport, I suppose, isn't it?" continued Captain Edwards. "I am told that numbers of wolves, foxes, and game birds of all kinds come over the ice in winter, and some are caught there when the thaw sets in. You might have a pleasant week—lonely, though; only a few fisherfolk and the lighthouse people. The island is five or six miles in length."

I blushed, and declared that sport was—in part, at least—the object of my visit; but that my main idea was to make some investigations in the hope of finding coal and iron, which were supposed to exist in the islands of the Gulf of Finland as on the mainland of Esthonia on the Russian side of the water.

"Oh, I see!" said Captain Edwards. "Well, look out for my old friend's treasure if you get digging. Who knows you mayn't hit upon something that will pay you even better than coal and iron!"

Captain Edwards laughed merrily at his little joke; he did not dream how near he came to touching the truth.

"Get yourself ready in a week," he added, "and I'll take you out. You'll have to get leave, though, before you can land. Try the Russian Consul; he's a sensible chap, and isn't likely to refuse anyone with commercial intentions that might benefit his country."

I thanked Captain Edwards, and left the ship-owners' office to digest what I had heard.

James Strong had apparently not sailed for Hogland from Hull; or, if he had, he had not revealed his intention to land before sailing. If that was the case, then he would not be landed at all—unless, indeed, he relied upon getting permission from the authorities in St. Petersburg to visit the island, and then returning thence to the spot.

After all, thought I, he would scarcely be so rash as to give himself away by announcing who he was, and why he desired to visit the island of Hogland. He would reflect that the first thing we should do on reaching England would be to travel up to Hull and inquire after his movements; and whether our designs upon him should prove to have reference to the treasure or to the welfare of his neck, he would naturally prefer to keep his whereabouts a secret. He would guess that, though we had lost our maps, we might at least remember the name of Hogland, and that it lay somewhere between St. Petersburg and Hull.

CHAPTER XXVI

HOW WE PROSPECTED FOR COAL

I happened to have some distant relatives in Hull, and, partly because I could not as yet make up my mind upon the particular cock-and-bull story that would best serve me with the Russian Consul, and partly because, I suppose, if one possesses very few relatives of any kind the heart warms towards even very distant ones when there is a chance of making or renewing acquaintance with them, I determined to pay them a call.

I was glad afterwards that I did so; for my father's cousin and his people were pleasant folk, and I have since learned to know and value them well. But over and above these good and sufficient domestic reasons there was another. My relative was well acquainted with the Russian Consul, I found, and not only did he offer to introduce me to that official, but even volunteered to go with me and use his good offices in persuading Mr. Oboohofsky to grant my request.

My cousin, moreover, knew something of mining matters, and was somewhat enthusiastic about my idea of coal and iron to be found in paying quantities in Hogland. There were coalfields in Esthonia, he said; why not in the islands off the coast? Why not, indeed? I began to look upon Hogland as a kind of "land of promise," and grew quite in love with my own ridiculous fable of exploiting the place for mineral wealth, though at the same time I was somewhat ashamed of myself for, as it were, taking in my relative in this matter. There might be coal and iron, however, in the place, and if I happened to find any, why, so much the better; my cousin should have the entire profit and exploitation of it for himself.

Still, I would not promise to dig very deep for it; that would depend upon the depth at which old Clutterbuck had buried his money-boxes; I should go no deeper than that!

The Russian Consul was a practical person, and did not feel so enthusiastic about my mining schemes as I had hoped he would. He wanted to know why on earth I had thought of going to the Gulf of Finland for coal; whereupon I trotted out my Esthonian coalfields—knowledge culled from some physical geography book, and, by some inscrutably mysterious process of mind, remembered where most other items of knowledge were clean gone out.

Then he asked, why particularly Hogland? And it was at this point of the conversation that I showed a readiness of resource and a nice appreciation of difficult situations, otherwise "corners," and of how to get out of them, which, if I could only act at all times up to the "form" of that morning in September, would undoubtedly lead me into very high places in the diplomatic and political world.

I pointed out to the Russian Consul that for purposes of coaling the Baltic fleet a fuel-producing island like Hogland, in mid-channel on the direct line from Cronstadt to everywhere else, would be an unspeakable boon to the nation. At present most of the coal used by Russian warships came from Hull and other English and Welsh ports But what if the Baltic were blocked in time of war?

The Russian Consul did not burst into tears, and, while thanking Heaven for this revelation of the terrible possibilities of the future, entreat me, with streaming eyes, to go to Hogland and find a little coal for his imperial master's warships; but he laughed, and said that the English were wonderful people, and seemed to be for ever prepared to take a great deal of trouble all over the world on the chance of very small results, and added that he hoped, if I found my coal, that I would make him a director of the company started to work it and would present him with a few shares.

I promised that if I found coal I would let him know, but we have never corresponded.

However, thanks to the good offices of my cousin, who was quite intimate with the Consul, and my own obvious enthusiasm, which he did not for a moment suspect to be founded on any more substantial basis than coal—and extremely problematical coal at that—Mr. Consul Oboohofsky granted my request for permission to land at Hogland, and countersigned my passport to that effect with the words—"Bon pour l'île de Hochland;" and Jack Henderson's also.

This matter being satisfactorily arranged, and there being still four days to pass before a start could be made, I ran down to Gloucestershire and spent that time with Jack and his sister, who is one of the sweetest girls that ever—but no, I think I will not enter into that matter in this place; if I have anything more to say about the Hendersons and their family circle I shall say it later on.

Enough that on the Saturday following Jack and I returned to Hull and took ship on board the Thomas Wilcox, whose captain had special permission from his owners to land us on the island of Hogland. I confess that I left the shores of England feeling depressed and miserable, and disinclined to go and dig for treasure or anything else, and that I looked long and sadly back at the dull shores of the Humber and wondered whereabouts exactly lay Gloucestershire, and what the good folks at Henderson Court were doing just at this moment, and especially Gladys—there I go again!

The North Sea is a cruel, ruthless body of water, and a stumbling-block to passengers. I had travelled to the Cape and back, and scarcely felt inconvenience; but here, one day out from England, I was treated to such a pitching and a rolling and a tumbling that my very soul refused comfort, and I lay and wished I was dead like any novice upon shipboard; and so did Jack, which was a great consolation to me, and did me more good than all the ministrations of the benevolent chief steward and the encouragement of kind Captain Edwards.

But all was forgotten and forgiven when Copenhagen was reached and the historical castle of Elsinore, one of the ugliest fastnesses, I should say, that ever mason put together for the joint accommodation of long-dead, disreputable kings, exemplary living monarchs, and respectable ghosts.

We passed Elsinore at midnight, and I did think that—as we had paid a good sum of money for our passages, and had stayed up and yawned for an hour beyond our usual sea-time for retiring—there might have been some little spiritual manifestation for our benefit. But Hamlet's father is, I suppose, laid by this time; or the rebuilt castle, upon whose battlements he used to walk, is not to his taste (in which case he is the ghost of a wise and discriminating spirit!), for he never appeared to us; and we were obliged to retire to bed baffled and disappointed, resolved to pen a complaint to the Psychical Research authorities, who ought to see that passengers viâ Elsinore are not disappointed in this way.

And so on into the Baltic, and past many islands belonging to Denmark and Sweden, and with distant glimpses of a most uninteresting-looking mainland; and presently the Gulf of Finland was reached, and our pulses began to beat once more with the old ardour of treasure hunting—a sensation we had almost forgotten since the agitating days of the Ngami search, and the many exciting adventures and crises through which we had passed in the last three months.

As we drew hourly nearer to our island, my excitement grew positively painful. I was oppressed with a kind of horror that we should find Strong waiting to be taken off, with a smile of triumph upon his face and a cheque for one hundred thousand pounds securely buttoned up in his breast pocket!

Captain Edwards, who proved a good and kind friend to us throughout, strongly recommended us to take with us to Hogland a sailor—one whom he could easily spare us, since he was now within a twelve hours' run of his destination—of Russian nationality, who could speak English. He had more than one such "hand" on board, and we arranged with a certain Michail Andreyef to land with us and act as our interpreter—a post which that gentleman, having ascertained that no work of any kind would be involved in the situation, accepted with alacrity at a moderate wage; and remarkably useful he proved to us in our sojourn in that lonely island.

I do not think that Michail, good man, would have landed with us if he had known that there was no drinking shop on the island; but he found out our flasks after a day or two, and these no doubt afforded him some little consolation, though, of course, the contents did not last him long, and he was only drunk three days on the entire proceeds. And now here, at last, was Hogland itself—our Eldorado, as we hoped, if only James Strong had not already landed and ruined our prospects!

How I stared at it, and wondered and wondered whether the fateful tin box that contained old Clutterbuck's cheque lay somewhere within its soil, peacefully slumbering until the right man came along to unearth the treasure! And oh! how I wished it might prove that Strong had neither arrived nor forestalled me!

CHAPTER XXVII

ELDORADO OR—HOGLAND

The island looked bare and desolate enough from the point of view of the deck of our steamer, long and rather narrow at each end, but bulging in the middle to a width of several miles; covered with pine forests and patches of moorland, and with a high backbone of tree-clad hills running down the middle from end to end. It was exceedingly like the old man's map as we remembered it, and the first sight of it so whetted my enthusiasm and treasure-ardour that I could scarcely contain my joy when we steamed into view of it.

Jack and I, nevertheless, made the most of the bird's-eye prospect of the island which we now obtained; for we knew well that such a survey of the place might be exceedingly useful to us in our subsequent investigations. We saw the spot which appeared to us to answer to that described in our lost maps as the grave of Clutterbuck's Treasure, and we noted the best way to get to it, which was by the seashore to the left from the lighthouse.

The keepers of that most useful building must have been surprised indeed to see a large British steamer stop within half a mile of the hungry-looking rocks upon which their house and tower were erected; for though such vessels passed daily, none ever stayed. Three men, two women, and several children came out in a hurried way and stood staring like startled rabbits at us and our proceedings before bolting back to their holes as the boat approached into which we had transferred ourselves and our luggage, guns, spades, and provisions.

So far as these good folk were concerned, we might as well have had no passport at all; and as for the "bon pour Hochland" of the Consul, if we had written across the document any such legend as, for instance, "Herrings at tenpence a dozen," it would have served the purpose equally well. For the lighthouse keeper, after having studied the passports wrong way up, and scratched his head for inspiration, and spat on the ground in true Muscovite protest against the incomprehensible, and having crossed himself in case there should be anything appertaining to the evil eye or the police (which he regarded as amounting to much the same thing) about the proceedings, gave it up as a bad job, and inquired of our interpreter, Michail, what on earth we had come for.

I fancy Michail indulged in some pleasantry at our expense, for the two women and three men and seven children, standing gaping around us, all burst out laughing at the same moment, and the conversation among them "became general."

Presently, however, Michail informed us that it was all right, and that we might remain if we pleased. He said a small offering to the lighthouse keeper, for "tea," would be acceptable, and this we cheerfully provided, with the result that that gentleman and all his following were our sworn friends for life, in the hope of more tea-money some other day.

We were offered quarters in the wooden houses in which these good people lived; but when we entered their abode and learned that we should be expected to herd in one suffocatingly hot room, together with every person whom we had yet seen, and perhaps others to whom we had not yet been introduced, and to sleep on straw upon the floor, or on sheepskins upon the top of a huge brick stove which occupied half the room, we explained to Michail that we had other engagements. There were several reasons for this decision besides those given—some crawly ones and some jumpy. We saw a number of the former on the walls, and had already begun to suspect the presence of the latter nearer still to our persons.

Michail might come back and sleep here, we told him, after he had accompanied us to the small fishing village where we desired to make a few inquiries.

This seemed to please Michail, who, we concluded, had some good reason for liking the poor dumb animals on the wall better than we did. I suppose there is good in most things, if one can only discern it through the evil.

Michail inquired, at our request, whether anyone had landed here lately, within the last month or so; upon which the lighthouse keeper informed us that the last stranger who had visited the island, so far as he knew, was a madman from England, or Germany, or other foreign parts, where everyone, he was told, was more or less mad. This English lunatic had landed here a few years ago; he had gone and hidden himself in the woods for a week, alone, sleeping, he believed, at the village at the other end of the island, and passing his time counting the trees in the forest, or doing something equally insane. After a week he had returned, and had been taken on board by a steamboat.

"No one else, this month?" we insisted.

"Certainly not," said the man; why should anyone come to the island if he could live on the mainland, where there were drink-shops?

This was unanswerable, and quite delightful too, though how it happened that we had contrived to arrive before the wide-awake Mr. James Strong was more than I, or Jack either, could imagine.

"Perhaps he was wrecked, and drowned on the way here," I suggested.

Jack dissented. That would not be "playing the game," he said; Mr. Strong was born to be hanged; of that there could be no possible doubt whatever. Perhaps he would arrive while we were still on the island! Michail must keep a lookout, and come and warn us if anyone landed. We had no particular desire to be bombarded again by Mr. James Strong.

As an additional precaution we promised the lighthouse keeper the sum of ten roubles, which is about equal to one pound, if he refused to allow any other person to land, and were comforted by that individual's assurance that he would refuse admittance to the Tsar of England himself for such a sum of money as that.

Then we went to the fishing village in order to glean any information that the inhabitants might have to dispense at their end of the island; but to all our questions as to whether any person had landed on the island within the last month, the "elder," or head man of the village, to whom we applied, declared that he knew nothing and cared nothing about anybody or anything; and that, when it was necessary, he also saw nothing and heard nothing.

"Ask him, Michail, if a rouble would refresh his memory as to anything he may have seen or heard," suggested Jack.

The head man said he did not know; it might.

Then he took the rouble, and declared that no one had been near the island for years.

This was very satisfactory, and we added a second rouble in the joy of our hearts; at which evidence of our generosity Alexander, the elder, crossed himself and prayed aloud for the welfare of our souls. Then he said he had some articles for sale which might be useful to us if we intended to try a little sport on the island, and produced—to our surprise—an English-looking revolver. I was about to take it from his hand, when Jack snatched the weapon from me.

"Why, great skittles! Peter," he cried. "Look at it! Look at it, man; look at it! What do you see?" Jack burst out laughing, and then suddenly grew grave. I took the weapon from him to examine it, surprised at his excitement.

"It's loaded," I said, "in four chambers."

"Yes; but look at it well!" he cried. "Don't you know it, man?"

I looked again, and the weapon almost dropped from my hand. It was my own revolver, not a doubt of it—my own name was scratched along the lower side of the barrel. It was the same that Strong had choked with lead, that I had afterwards presented to Clutterbuck, that Strong had stolen from that unfortunate fellow, and with which he had murdered his companion; the same with which he had attacked ourselves on the road to Vryburg, at our last encounter with the rascal, and a bullet from which had taken a bit out of my shin-bone.

For a moment or two I was too bewildered to collect my thoughts. Jack brought me to my senses.

"Well," he said, "what do you make of it?"

"I make of it that we are too late," I groaned. "The rogue has been too quick for us, confound him!"

"Yes," said Jack, "that's what I'm thinking too. But how did this fellow get hold of the pistol?"

It was a question to which I could find no reply.

"Ask him where he got the pistol from," said Jack to Michail; and our interpreter put the question as desired.

The reply was that the pistol was for sale; would we buy it? The elder knew nothing about the antecedents of the weapon, but it was his property, and for sale.

"Ask him if he will remember anything about its history if we buy it," said Jack.

The elder was of opinion that he might remember a little for ten roubles.

This sum was instantly transferred, and our friend presently informed us, through Michail, that the weapon had belonged to a Swedish person who had come over from the coast of Finland, from Helsingfors, in a sailing boat about three weeks ago, and who had made him a present of it. That was all he had to say. The Swede had departed a fortnight ago.

At this reply my heart sank lower than before, for here was the confirmation of my worst fears. All was lost—that much was obvious. James Strong had been too smart for us. He had travelled viâ Sweden and crossed from Stockholm to Helsingfors, sailing over to Hogland from that port—absolutely the simplest, and at the same time the most artful, course he could pursue, seeing that he was unwilling to travel direct from Hull by reason of the obvious publicity of such a proceeding.

All was lost—that was now certain. I was a pauper again. The only consolation was that, so far as I could see, I could not have done anything to circumvent Strong. He had had too long a start.

CHAPTER XXVIII

WHAT THE ELDER DID WITH STRONG

Jack looked as dejected as I did.

"The only thing I don't understand is," he said presently, "why Strong should have presented the fellow with his revolver. Do you suppose he intended us to find it here, as a sort of mocking message to us that we had failed?"

"More likely he wished to be rid of an awkward piece of evidence in case he was ever collared by us," I said. "If we ever caught him, and he had this thing in his possession, we should easily have proved our accusations against him."

"Of course he found the treasure," said Jack, "or he wouldn't have gone away."

"Of course," I echoed dismally.

"Still," said Henderson, "it would be interesting to hear all about how he found it and where; I'd give another ten roubles to be told all this grimy gentleman knows."

I was not at all certain that it would be an unmixed joy to be taken and shown the pit out of which another fellow had dug the treasure which I had so ardently hoped to make my own. But Jack was evidently anxious on the subject, and curiosity was burning a hole in my resolution as well. I reflected a minute or two.

"Well, ask him if you like," I assented presently; "it will be a painful thing for me, though, I can tell you." More painful than Jack guessed, perhaps; for I was tenfold more anxious to be rich to-day than I had been a few months since in Africa. I had found a new reason, down in Gloucestershire, for wishing to own the treasure, and now all hope of possessing old Clutterbuck's golden hoard had vanished. Painful? It would be torture to be shown the hole in which the treasure, and all my hopes of happiness with it, had rested but a short three weeks since; to be ruthlessly torn from their sanctuary by the bloodstained hands of a double-dyed rascal like James Strong.

"Michail," said Jack, "tell the fellow there is more tea-money to be had if his memory improves."

Michail conveyed this intelligence to his grimy companion, who grinned and scratched his shaggy yellow locks, and spat and made a gesture as though he now abandoned in our favour all previously observed considerations of discretion. Then he bade Michail tell us that for a second ten-rouble note he would tell us the whole history of the pistol, which he had just remembered.

Jack was artful this time, having gained experience upon this artless island. When he had heard the story, he said, he would hand over the tempting-looking red bank-note for ten roubles, which he now carefully removed from his purse and displayed, invitingly held between his fingers.

Then the elder, after looking wolfishly at the note and indulging in a final scratching among his tousled locks, began his tale, which proved to be a sufficiently exciting one.

"It was a lunatic of a Swede," he said, "who had sailed over in a small sailing-boat from Helsingfors, and had moored his craft over there at the Finnish side of the island and come ashore. He couldn't talk a word of anything that anyone could understand in the island, and would not come to the village, but slept on the shore close to his boat; and if anyone came near to have a look at him he stamped and raved and scolded them away again.

"On the morning after the first night I went down to the shore to see what the Swede was about," continued the elder, "that being my duty as elder of the village, and I took with me Kuzmá, my brother-in-law, and Gavril, my brother; for we have no right to admit strangers upon the island without passports. But this fellow had no passport, and threatened me with his fists for demanding one of him.

"So Kuzmá and Gavril and I sat down on the shore to watch what the Swedish lunatic would do.

"He waited, hoping that we would go away; and we waited, to see what he wanted on our island. He did nothing but read letters and look this way and that through the trees, and then down again at his letter, like any lunatic.

"Presently he grew tired of waiting, and stood up and shouted at us to go away. We did not understand his lingo, but that was doubtless the meaning of it, only the man was so angry that he could hardly speak, but only screamed at us and stamped his foot. Kuzmá grew a little frightened and said, 'Shall we go, brothers? This man is mad; it would be wise to preserve our bodies from harm.'

"But I said, 'No. We will pretend to depart, and hide ourselves among the trees; then we shall see but not be seen!' So we departed and hid ourselves where the mad Swede could not see us.

"After a while," continued the elder, "the madman took his letters and a spade, and wandered about among the trees until he came to a certain place, and there he began to dig.

"We desired to know, naturally, why he dug in the earth of our island, and while he was very busy with his digging we came nearer to see what we could see.

"And then, of a sudden, Kuzmá coughed, and that mad Swede looked up and saw us.

"Holy Saint Vladimir, equal to the apostles, preserve us from such demons as that Swedish maniac when he caught sight of Kuzmá and me and Gavril! He rushed straight at us like a wild bull, bellowing and shouting, and then—what think you, Mercifulness?—he whipped this very pistol from his pocket and banged one shot at Kuzmá and one at me. Me he missed, by the mercy of the Highest, and thanks, doubtless, to the interposition of my patron saint, Alexander of the Neva; but Kuzmá was struck by a bullet in the arm, and lay yelling on the ground."

The elder here paused in his narrative, which, for me, was about as interesting a tale as ever human lips unfolded, and spat five several times on the earth, crossing himself after each performance of the function. I waited impatiently for him to recommence. Jack's face, which I glanced at, was a study; he too was absorbed by the interest of the tale.

When the elder had finished his semi-religious duties, he continued—

"Gavril," he said, "my brother, to whom may the saints ensure a heavenly kingdom for his behaviour that day,—Gavril, with his staff, whacked the Swede on the head before he had quite killed Kuzmá and me, and knocked him senseless; in which condition Gavril and I put him in his boat and sailed across to Narva, where we gave in our evidence against him in the police court. We showed the pistol, and promised to produce Kuzmá when his arm was well enough to allow him to travel. This is his pistol that you have bought; and that is my tale. It's all I know, and may the holy saints preserve those who are honest folk, and punish the evil doers! If I have pleased your Mercifulness, I will place the ten-rouble note along with the other."

Thus, or to this effect, did the elder wander along, Michail laboriously translating, and then he stopped, having said his say.

"Good Heavens! Peter," said Jack after a pause, "that's a tale well worth ten roubles, I fancy; what say you?"

"Stop a bit," I gasped. "Ask him, Michail, what the Swede got out of the earth? Does he know what the fellow was digging for, and did he find it?"

"He did not give himself time," said the elder. "He flew at us before he had dug for half an hour. As for that which he expected to find, how should a plain fisherman know that? He was mad; what would a madman expect to find growing upon an island, that he could dig up with a spade? Gold and jewels, perhaps!" The elder laughed aloud and spat freely. Jack still withheld the note.

"At anyrate, he found nothing?" he asked.

"Nothing but sand, Mercifulness."

"And what has become of the Swede?" said I. "Was he detained at Narva?"

"Detained at Narva to be tried, Mercifulness," said the elder. "But there is hope that when the police behold Kuzmá's arm, which will be next week, the rascal may journey to Siberia without further trouble."

Jack handed in the ten-rouble note; our friend had certainly earned it; for though, of course, I would not go so far as to say that this elder told the truth (being a Russian that, of course, would be impossible; the only Russian who ever told the truth is dead), yet that his tale was not all lies was proved by the pistol.

Jack thought of a way of obtaining a little supplementary evidence in corroboration.

"Get him to show us where the Swede shot at him," he said, addressing Michail. "It would be interesting to see the mark in the tree made by the bullet fired at the elder."

Strong's latest victim had no objection to giving us this pleasure, and we were conducted to a place in the wood, and shown a tree which had an undoubted bullet mark some seven feet up the trunk.

"Ah! I see," said artful Jack. "So that is where you stood, and Kuzmá here, and the mad Swede came rushing from over there."

"No, not there," said the elder; "your Mercifulness may see, if you will, where the fellow was digging in the ground when we saw him. Heaven! to come all this way to dig!"

CHAPTER XXIX

MUCH DIGGING

The elder's invitation fell out very propitiously with artful Jack's designs, and we were shown the open space among the trees where Strong had commenced his digging operations, which had come to such an untimely end. There was the hole he had dug when interrupted and made to lose at once his temper and his chance of wealth.

There too were the four posts, arranged exactly as in Bechuanaland, in an irregular square. Strong, remembering where the treasure had been found in the first instance, had gone straight to the corresponding corner here, had pulled up the outer post, and begun to dig about its socket. Jack laughed.

"The old fellow wouldn't have been likely to hide it in the same spot twice," he said; "that would be too easy for us!"

I suggested that, at anyrate, we must not lay ourselves open to suspicion by digging about or even remaining in the neighbourhood of this particular spot, or we should have the whole village coming and digging with us. We must pretend that our curiosity was satisfied by the sight of the scene of the struggle, and that there our interest in this spot ended. We must do a little hunting or fishing for a day or two, and then return unsuspected to our real labours.

So we hired the elder and Gavril, the hero of the broomstick which had overthrown James Strong, and went a-fishing among the tiny islands and rocks that fringed the shores of Hogland itself, and here we spent a day very pleasantly in allaying the suspicions of the elder and in catching some good fish, in weight from one to fifteen pounds, including a few which I believe to have been large lake trout. The water here was scarcely brackish and the fish we caught were all denizens of the fresh water.

But excitement and longing to be up and about so as to discover the hidden treasure, burned like a banked fire within my bosom, and I was feverishly anxious to be ashore once more and at work.

We were out all night, and a cold function indeed it was; and right glad were we that we had brought our flasks to keep us alive and help our circulation to maintain the struggle. It was now that Michail discovered the existence of those flasks, for we had presented both the elder and our interpreter each with a small portion of the contents, and both men had found the English brandy to their taste. The consequence to us was, that when we landed and retired to sleep those two artless Russians stole our flasks and disappeared.

Now this, far from proving, as at first sight it might seem, an unmixed disaster, was, as a matter of fact, the greatest boon that could have happened to us; for though there was not very much of the spirit in our stolen flagons, yet it was strong, and there was enough to keep both men handsomely employed in recovering from its effects for three days.

Those three days of investigation, free from inquisitive observation and possible interference, were exactly what we most desired, and at the very first opportunity we shook off both the elder and Michail, who were already in secret possession of the flasks and quite pleased to be shaken off, and set to work in earnest at our digging.

The area to be investigated was of the same shape as our African treasure-field, but smaller by half, for which mercy I was grateful to destiny; for even half the old area was quite sufficient for the digging of two men, unless they happened to desire to dig themselves into their own graves, which Jack and I certainly did not.

Needless to say, Jack now felt no compunction about taking his turn with the spade, for I might fairly consider myself the only competitor now left "in the running." Poor Clutterbuck murdered; young Strong eaten; James Strong in Siberia, or on the way there—there were none left to contest my claims.

So Jack dug with me, and very hard work he found it, and very stiff he felt at the end of the first profitless day; so that I was able to screw out of him a kind of apology for his want of sympathy with my stiffness at Ngami. We had half intended to set a decoy for wolves, of which there were said to be a few on the island; but we were both too tired for anything of the sort, and preferred to sleep, wrapped in our blankets, over a fire in the forest, as in the African days, only with dark pines waving over our heads, and a sharper air biting at the exposed parts of our persons, instead of strange palmy and ferny trees, and prickly-pears and kei apples, and a soft, hothouse kind of air around us.

On the second day we toiled from morn till dewy eve, but found nothing to repay us, and by that time the surface of our ground was upheaved from end to end to the depth of a spade-head. Then we determined to spend the third day in trying various experiments.

We were full of excellent ideas, but the same thoughts had unfortunately not occurred to old Clutterbuck while hiding his treasure.

First of all, we procured from the village a ball of string; they had plenty there, for the making and mending of nets.

Then we fastened an end to one of the posts and carried a line across diagonally to a second, and from a third across to the fourth, as from A to B and from C to D in the chart—

Where the strings crossed at E, we dug a deep hole and had great hopes for the result. But it seemed that this excellent plan had not occurred to Mr. Clutterbuck; he had not concealed his wealth in accordance with our ingenious geometrical device. Then we went and borrowed a horse and a plough from the fisherfolk, who had a field or two near the village for the growing of their rye and potatoes. And with that plough we turned up every scrap of our acre of land, and began to grow desperate because there was not a vestige of treasure or anything else but sandy soil and a few worms.

Then we sat down to reflect, and gnashed our teeth, and took in vain the name of old Clutterbuck who had beguiled us to this forsaken island to dig for treasure which he had never buried.

"I believe Strong found it, after all," said Jack—"found it in five minutes in the very first hole he made."

"If I thought that I would go to Siberia after him," I said, "and screw his neck till he gave it up."

"My dear man, he couldn't take a load of treasure with him to Siberia!" said Jack. "The authorities would have it in a minute."

"It might be all in one cheque," said I; "and he's hidden it—swallowed it, or put it in his boot or something."

"Well, you can't very well follow him to Siberia with a stomach-pump in one hand and your revolver in the other," laughed Jack; "but you may bet, if he had found the stuff he would not have been so quarrelsome; he would have been too pleased with himself to rush straight at these poor peasants and empty his revolver at their heads!"

This seemed true, and we turned our thoughts once more to the invention of devices that might have occurred to the old man for the more ingenious concealment of his treasures. It could scarcely be supposed that the old miser really desired to defeat altogether the ingenuity of his heirs, should they prove to be in possession of a quantum of that commodity; for if it had been his intention to deprive us altogether of the money, he need never have made us his potential heirs. The money must be here—that was as good as certain.

Then we tested other geometrical designs. We counted as many feet towards the middle, from each post in turn, as the old man had lived years, seventy-one; and we dug deeply at each seventy-first foot. We turned up the soil at the spot where fell the only shadow of the day—the shadow of a tall pine whose topmost boughs afforded us a few feet of shade towards evening; but nothing came of it. We tried many other devices, each more deeply ingenious, not to say "far-fetched," than the last; but the third day drooped and faded, and still we were no wiser than before.

That night Michail returned to camp, looking as though he had passed through great tribulation and had been making good resolutions. He slunk in and lay down by the fire, and slept so soundly that no ordinary artillery firing a royal salute at his ear would have disturbed him.

We were sorry to see Michail, for we did not desire his presence here. We wished we had another flask for him.

This wish was redoubled when in the morning, as we dug and delved—toiling and perspiring and almost despairing, though still manfully playing up to the motto of my own family crest: "Dum spiro spero" (which Jack translated "Stick to it, boys, till you're pumped!")—while Michail still slept, the elder appeared suddenly upon the scene. He too bore traces of bacchanalianism, though he did not seem to have suffered so severely from the malady as Michail. The elder was surprised to see us working, and asked us what we were about.

We gathered that this was the meaning of the elder's remark, but until we had kicked Michail into the realms of consciousness in order to translate it for us we could not be certain. Michail awoke at the seventeenth kick, and said he had not been asleep, but had been lying and thinking. He told us what the elder had said, the elder repeating it.

"Tell him that's our business," said Jack surlily—he was disgusted, like myself, with the failure of our labours; "and that he'd better go home to the village and mind his own."

"Oh," said the elder, on hearing this, "certainly I will obey; I had no wish to intrude upon their Mercifulnesses; only I thought their Mercifulnesses might be digging here in order to find a certain tin box with a letter in it which I myself found near this spot some years ago!"

The spade dropped from my hand; Jack's fell also.

"Michail," he said, or gasped; "what does the fellow mean? Where is the tin box and the letter that he found here? Ask him quickly, idiot, or I'll brain you with my spade!"

The elder was not disturbed by our excitement; he said he thought the tin box was somewhere up at the village; he wasn't quite sure!

CHAPTER XXX

I TAKE A STRONG LEAD IN THE RACE

Jack seized the elder by the shoulders and shook him—shook him handsomely and thoroughly till his splendid white moujik-teeth rattled in his head. The elder burst into tears and fell on his knees as soon as Jack let go of him, crossing himself repeatedly and jabbering vociferously. The fox had changed in an instant into a rabbit, and a timid one at that. It was impossible to translate what he said, Michail protested. On being pressed to do so, Michail observed—

"He say his prayers," and I think that must have been about the measure of it; at all events, he was saying nothing about tin boxes.

"Tell him we don't wish to hurt him," said Jack; "but we intend to have that tin box; and if his memory does not improve in the next five minutes, so that he leads us straight to where he has hidden it, something dreadful will happen to him."

This truculent message was given to the elder, who allowed himself but one more minute for the consolation of prayer and then took to his heels for the village, we taking care to keep up with him. Jack's threat seemed to have wonderfully assisted the process of recalling the past, for Alexander led us straight to his own house, into the living room (where his astonished wife and five amazed children were feasting upon black bread and dried fish, their mouths, opened to receive those dainties, remaining open by reason of their surprise), and without hesitation opened a kind of cupboard in the corner in which he kept his three teacups and his two tumblers (one cracked), together with his store of vodka.

From this receptacle, which he opened but a fraction, as though jealous lest we should steal a peep at his teacups, he quickly produced a tin box, the facsimile of that which I had unearthed in far-away Bechuana. The elder crossed himself, spat on the ground, made a droll gesture of surrender to superior force, and banged the box down upon the table.

Then his face assumed a beseechful, maudlin expression, and he said that he had done as the gentleman desired, but if the gentleman considered it worth a gratuity that he should have safely preserved this box until the gentleman came for it, why—

"Tell him to go to the deuce," said Jack; "and wait there till we see what's in it and what isn't. Here, Peter; it's yours—examine."

I opened the box: there was another within it, as before; neither was locked; and as before, inside the inner receptacle was an envelope, and within the envelope a letter; no cheque to bearer, no bank-notes for one hundred thousand pounds.... My disgust and disappointment were too great for words; I could not speak; I could not even swear; I believe I burst into tears.

"Come, come!" said Jack bracingly, "don't give way, old chap; it's just as well there are no diamonds or gold—this elder fellow would have had the lot! Cheer up, man, and read the letter, or I will! I for one don't mind another journey—I haven't travelled half enough yet! Read the letter!"

It was all very well for Jack. The issue was nothing to him (comparatively speaking); to me it was everything—all the world, and the happiness of life!

"I told you how it would be," I raved; "the old rascal meant to swindle us from the beginning. He will keep us travelling from pillar to post in this way till the worms have eaten up his hoardings and his miser's carcass as well. The whole thing's a fraud, Jack, and I am the victim."

"You're better off than the other victims, at all events," said Jack. "Read the letter, man. Don't abuse the old boy till you know he deserves it."

"Confound the letter," I said, "and him too! Read it yourself—I'm sick of the business!"

I was, as my conduct indicates, very angry, very disappointed, and very ridiculous. I have since exonerated Mr. Clutterbuck and apologised to Jack, many a time. I still think, however, that the old man's methods were extremely exasperating; and though ashamed of my loss of temper, I am not in the least surprised that I should have succumbed to my feelings of rage and disappointment.

But there was one thing which I have never regretted in the slightest degree, and that is, that when Michail suddenly laughed out at this point, finding, I suppose, something comical about my words or actions, I laid hold of him by the shoulders from behind, and walked him twice round the room and out at the door, I kicking and he yelling. After this I felt consoled and returned to hear Jack read out the letter.

It was very much like the other.

"The Prize to the Swift," the document began, and continued as follows:—

"Do not despair, you whose energy has proved equal to emergency. Having succeeded up to this point, you are sure to succeed to the end. My treasure is not here. I would never leave it so far from home and at the mercy of prying strangers in a foreign land. How do I know that I am not watched at this moment by jealous eyes from the fishing village a mile away? This box will possibly be dug up after my departure, but I do not dread such an event, since it will add, perhaps, to your trouble in finding it, my most indolent relatives and heirs, and that is a contingency which I hail with joy. That any finder of the box will destroy it, I am not afraid. He will rather keep it by him and sell it to those who come to seek it.

"As for you, my treasure is where it should be, and must ever have been, for I would never trust it elsewhere—in my own country and in my own home. Where else should it be? Return, then, successful pilgrim; seek nearer home. Where my treasure is, there is my heart, or near it. I lie buried in Streatham churchyard; my treasure is not far away from my bones! ... Dig, dig, and dig again.

"The only land upon which I or my heirs possess the right of digging is my own garden in Streatham. Dig there, my friend, and success to him who digs wisest and deepest.

"My portrait is part of the spoil for the winner; it was done for me by a pavement artist for two shillings and three pence, but do not throw it away on that account. It is the portrait of your benefactor, and his blessing will go to him who preserves it well."

The letter ended here, without signature or date.

CHAPTER XXXI

THE ELDER MAKES A GOOD BARGAIN, AND MICHAIL A POOR ONE

"What does he mean?" I growled. "Where's the portrait?"

Jack looked in the boxes, and turned the letter round; there was no sign of a drawing or of anything connected with portraiture.

I walked up to the elder's cupboard and looked in. Besides the teacups and other domestic treasures there was a tin case, in size about one foot by nine inches. I took this without permission from the elder, who had disappeared after Michail. I opened it.

Sure enough, it was a portrait of old Clutterbuck—the vilest that could be conceived, but still recognisable. The old man could never, I should say, have laid claim to good looks; but the "pavement artist" had scarcely done him justice; he had, in fact, represented his client as so repulsively hideous that the lowest criminal would probably have reconsidered his position and turned over a new leaf if informed that he possessed a face like this of poor maligned Clutterbuck.

"By George!" said Jack, "the old chap couldn't have been very vain to bequeath such a thing as that to his heirs. What a terrible specimen he must have been! Was he like this thing?"

"He wasn't as bad as that," I replied. I felt that I had a grievance against the man, and I was not inclined to give him more than the barest justice; but I was bound to admit this much.

"I'm glad to hear it," said Jack; "for if he had been, I think I should have lost my faith in the bonâ fides of his letters and of the whole thing. That pavement artist ought to have been hanged, and his body danced on. What, in Heavens name, did the old man want to leave you a thing like that for? Why couldn't he get himself photographed if he was sentimentally anxious that his heirs should possess his portrait?"

Jack laughed; I could not help joining in. It was really rather funny; and the more one looked at the picture the more one felt inclined to laugh. The artist was evidently not ashamed of his work, for he had painted his name in full at the foot of it, "Thomas Abraham Tibbett," bless him! I know his name well—I read it every day of my life, for his masterpiece hangs over my washstand, and I look at it whenever I feel low in spirits and think that a little T. A. Tibbett will do me good.

"What a merciful dispensation that one can't see his eyes, or, rather, that they are looking downwards and don't follow you about as they do in some portraits that are not by pavement artists," said Jack. "Look at them; there'd be a lifetime of nightmares in a pair of eyes like those, if they happened to be looking up."

I have often thought how true this was, and have rejoiced that the artist of the pavement mistrusted his skill and made the eyes as he did; but for my joy there are more reasons than now appear.

Michail and the elder were outside when we left the house. I think they were conspiring against us; no violence, or anything of that sort—a mere conspiracy of roubles. Michail desired a solatium for the kicks he had received from me; the elder grieved because he had delivered up his tin box, under the influence of fear, without pecuniary equivalent.

Both were sulky and uncommunicative, or perhaps assumed sulkiness for their own ends. The only information that we could obtain from Michail, in reply to our requests that he would inquire of the elder where and how he found the tin boxes, was that Kuzmá was going to sail across to Narva to give evidence against the Swede who had shot him.

"What has that to do with it?" said Jack.

Michail grinned and scratched his head, and said something in Russian to the elder, who did likewise and cleaned up his mouth with the back of his hand besides.

"Well?" said Jack; "go on!"

"The other great lord kicked me in a painful manner!" continued Michail, placing his hand near the afflicted part.

"He will kick you again in a still more painful manner," said Jack, "if you don't explain yourself."

"There is plenty of good vodka at Narva," said Michail, "forty, fifty, or sixty copeks the bottle, or two-forty for a vedro." (A vedro contains, approximately, a gallon.)

"Oh, I see," said Jack. "All right, sonny, you shall be healed, don't fear; and the other fellow too, but ask him about the boxes first!"

"Tea-money first!" said Michail. "Alexander says the little box is worth five roubles and the big one ten. At Narva, if I complained against the merciful gentleman for kicking me, he would be detained and fined. A gallon of vodka and twenty roubles is my price for being kicked by the honourable lord."

"Kicked how many times?" said Jack. "For that sum we shall certainly kick you round the island, my friend. The police at Narva will fine as much for one kick as for thirty. We shall take all our kicks, remember!"

Michail decided not to go to Narva, and to charge me for the original kicking only—the price of which was fixed at a vedro of vodka, to be brought back from Narva by Kuzmá, and one rouble.

As for the elder, we paid him for the tin boxes, for, after all, they were treasure-trove, and might prove to be very much more valuable to us than the price asked.

This little matter being satisfactorily settled, Alexander the elder deigned to inform us how he came by the property.

This, he said, was a very simple matter. He had had the things five years, keeping them because he felt sure someone would arrive one day to find them. Five years ago an old Englishman had come on the island, all alone, to seek rare flowers and plants, as he informed everyone through a pilot at the lighthouse, since departed, who spoke English.

The elder had watched the old man's botanical researches, and saw him collect a number of roots of "brusnika and other rubbish," and saw him also plant four posts in the wood, digging holes for each and putting them in and piling earth to keep them steady. Then he had dug a fifth hole, somewhere near, and buried these boxes in it, laughing and jabbering to himself, said the elder, like a madman. The rest was very simple. Old Clutterbuck sailed away in the English steamer that stopped to pick him up, and the elder quickly went and dug up the boxes, hoping to find cash, but discovering nothing more valuable than a letter he could not read. He had thought of destroying both this and "the picture of the devil," as he called old Clutterbuck's portrait, but had taken the wiser course of preserving both in case someone to whom they were not valueless should come to find them.

When Strong arrived and commenced his digging operations, the elder hoped that his opportunity had dawned; but Strong proved to be a madman with whom it was impossible to enter into negotiations.

The rest, of course, we knew.

Were we really on the road to success at last? At all events, Jack and I had the grace to admit that we had enjoyed fairly good luck after all, supposing that the letter was actually the passport to wealth which it purported to be. If the elder had destroyed it we should never have got any farther than Hogland in our researches! As for the picture, he might have done what he liked with that, we thought; though, since it seemed to be the desire of the testator that we should keep it, we piously determined to do so.