Part 19 (1/2)
”Take one.”
The Scotchman raised one of the bags and shook it. A musical clinking sounded.
”Forty pounds of gold coin,” said Henshaw, ”and about ten thousand dollars in all. There are eighty-five of those bags, and every one holds the same amount. Also--”
He opened a little drawer at the top of the safe and took from it a chamois bag. When he untied it, McTee looked within and saw a quant.i.ty of pearls. He took out a small handful. They were chosen jewels, flawless, glowing. His hand seemed to overflow with white fire. He dropped them back in the bag, letting each pearl run over the end of his fingers. Henshaw restored the bag and locked the safe. Then the two men stared at each other. They had been opposite types the moment before, but now their lips parted in the same thirsty eagerness.
”If she were dead,” said McTee almost reverently, ”the sight of that would bring her back to life.”
”McTee, you're a worthy lad. They've told me lies about you. Indeed it would bring her back to life! It must be so! And yet--” Sudden melancholy fell on him as they returned to the other room and sat down.
”Yet I think night and day of what an old devil of a black magician told me in the Solomon Islands. He said I and my gold should burn together. I laughed at him and told him I could not die on dry land. He said I would not, but that I should burn at sea! Think of that, McTee!
Suppose I should be robbed of the sight of my girl and of my gold at the same time!”
McTee started to say something cheerful, but his voice died away to a mutter. Henshaw was staring at the wall with visionary eyes filled with horror and despair.
”Lad, do you think ghosts have power?”
”Henshaw, you've drunk a bit too much!”
”If they have no power, I'm safe. I fear no living man!” He added softly: ”No man but myself!”
”I'm tired out,” said McTee suddenly. ”Where shall I bunk, captain?”
”Here! Here in this room! Take that couch in the corner over there. It has a good set of springs. With gold in my hands. Here are some blankets. With gold in my hands and my brain. Though you don't need much covering in this lat.i.tude. I would raise her from the grave.”
He went about, interspersing his remarks to McTee with half-audible murmurs addressed to his own ears.
”Is this,” thought McTee, ”the Shark of the South Seas?”
A knock came and the door opened. A fat sailor in an oilskin hat stood at the entrance.
”The cook ain't put out no lunch for the night watches, sir,” he whined.
Henshaw had stood with his back turned as the door opened. He turned now slowly toward the open door. McTee could not see his face nor guess at its expression, but the moment the big sailor caught a glimpse of his skipper's countenance, he blanched and jumped back into the night, slamming the door behind him. That sight recalled something to McTee.
”One thing more, captain,” he said. ”What of Harrigan? Do we break him between us?”
”Aye, in your own way!”
”Good! Then start him scrubbing the bridge and send him down to the fireroom afterwards, eh?”
”It's done. Why do you hate him, McTee? Is it the girl?”
”No; the color of his hair. Good night.”
CHAPTER 17
Long before this, Harrigan had reported to the bos'n, burly Jerry Hovey, and had been a.s.signed to a bunk into which he fairly dived and fell asleep in the posture in which he landed. In the morning he tumbled out with the other men and became the object of a crossfire of questions from the curious sailors who wanted to know all the details of the wreck of the _Mary Rogers_ and the life on the island. He was saved from answering nine-tenths of the chatter by a signal from the bos'n, who beckoned Harrigan to a stool a little apart from the rest of the crew. Jerry Hovey was a cheery fellow of considerable bulk, with an habitual smile. That smile went out, however, when he talked with Harrigan, and the Irishman became conscious of a pair of steady, alert gray eyes.