"NO doubt you wondered why I returned home by the vessel which came to a bad ending on the Cannis, instead of by the regular mail service. However, before explaining why I took this apparently erratic step, I'll tell you about the documents I obtained from Sarmientos. First and foremost there was the cipher, still preserved in the little metal box. I have not got it here; but, thank goodness, it's safe enough in the keeping of the cottagers at Pridmouth, the same people who kindly lent me the garb in which I made my appearance to you. There's not much in it to look at, but in all probability we shall find it a tough nut to crack. It is a piece of parchment, on which is drawn a square, subdivided into over two hundred smaller squares, most of which are blank, but a few contain various hieroglyphics, and the vague directions, 'steer nor'-east.' However, we will go into that when we get it. The other papers, which, unfortunately, were stolen——"
"Stolen?" exclaimed my father anxiously.
"Yes, stolen; but I was going to say that they were of no apparent value—merely a sort of diary kept by Ross Trevena during his residence in Brazil, the title-deeds of his plantation at San Antonio de Riachaya, a few indentures, and an old piece of parchment, covered with figures—apparently a sort of ready-reckoner.
"As I told you in my last letter, the natives did not appear to appreciate my presence in Pernambuco, or, rather, in the outskirts, for San Antonio is about four miles from the city. Once thehaciendawhere I was staying was broken into, but the intruders were foiled by Chappell's bulldog, Chappell being, by the way, an English engineer with whom I became friendly, and he happened to be staying with me at the time of the attempted burglary. Twice I was set upon by a party of Brazilians, but the sight of the muzzle of a revolver cooled their ardour, and one night as I was sitting in the patio a pistol bullet whizzed unpleasantly close to my head. Why they bestowed these attentions on me I cannot imagine, unless they had a mistaken idea that I had a secret hoard or a clue to a treasure somewhere in the district. Possibly they do not realize that it is a far cry from Brazil to the Islands of the Pacific.
"However, under the circumstances, I thought that the best thing I could do was to clear out as quickly as possible, and, as it happened, an Italian tramp, the 'Andrea Doria,' was about to sail direct to Fowey to load up with china clay. She wasn't a bad sort of vessel, as foreigners go, being built so lately as 1893, and her captain and officers were quite decent fellows, especially from a social point of view. Probably you remember the 'old man,' Luigi Righi; he's been in this harbour several times, but, poor chap, I'm afraid he won't enter again, unless his corpse is carried in by the tide. The crew were all Italian, excepting a couple of Brazilians shipped to replace some of the men who had deserted at Bahia. Well, we cleared out of the harbour, high in ballast, and had an uneventful run until we sighted the Longships, and here we fell in with thick weather, which ended up with a regular southerly gale.
"We were able to catch only a glimpse of the Lizard lights, then everything was blotted out in the mirk. I stayed up all night, keeping on the bridge with the skipper and the second mate. About 11 p.m. the captain decided we were too close in shore, and telegraphed to the engine-room to slow down to half-speed, intending to keep well out until he could pick up the Eddystone lights, so I came to the conclusion that he thought it safer to make for Plymouth rather than enter Fowey Harbour in such a gale.
"Just as our helm was put hard-a-port, I saw a huge wave bearing down on our starboard bow. It burst over our fo'c'sle in a solid mass, carrying away everything movable, and, hearing a warning shout from the captain, I cowered behind the canvas storm-dodgers, and held on like grim death. The crest of the wave swept the bridge, tearing away the greater part of the rail and the ladder, and with the former went the mate. I could just distinguish his cry of terror above the howling of the gale. The captain slid down one of the bridge stanchions, and, needless to say, I followed suit, and on gaining the shelter of the wheel-house we found that the steam steering-gear had broken down. Almost at the same moment the chief engineer rushed on deck reporting four feet of water in the engine-room, and the quartermaster, staggering along from aft, announced that the loss of the rudder had caused an alarming leak in the after-hold.
"The skipper seemed calm enough, for he translated his subordinate's reports to me; but a few minutes afterwards up came the panic-stricken engine-room staff, gesticulating, and calling on all the saints in the calendar, while from the engine-room-hatch poured a thick cloud of steam, and immediately afterwards the dull throb of the propeller ceased, and we were helpless in the trough of the sea.
"It seemed hours that we drifted in utter helplessness, sea after sea breaking in, carrying away all the boats on the starboard side, while, by the vessel's sluggishness in shaking herself free, I knew she was sinking fast.
"Something prompted me to go below and secure the precious papers, but on gaining my berth I found the cabin door had been forced open and the place hurriedly ransacked, all my personal belongings being scattered on the floor. There were no signs of the documents, though luckily I had the box containing the cipher sewn in my waistbelt. At first thoughts I came to the conclusion that the motion of the vessel had caused the disorder in the cabin, but the sight of the two locked portmanteaux cut open, apparently with a sharp knife, destroyed this theory. In spite of the peril of the situation, I argued that, if robbery had been the motive, the papers, being of no apparent value, would have been overlooked; but further search showed that there was some deliberate reason that had induced the thief to take them.
"In the midst of my hurried search came a shock that made the vessel shudder so violently that I was thrown against the for'ard bulkhead of the cabin. The ship was aground.
"I sprang forward to rush on deck, but, to my horror, I found that the cabin-door had jammed in its frame and I was a prisoner.
"I remember once, when I was a small boy (you were not there at the time), our pet cat was caught by its head in a jug while trying to steal some milk. How I laughed at the wretched creature's antics, as in an agony of fright it tore round the room with the jug adhering firmly to its head. Poor brute! It has my sympathy now, for its state of mind must have been very much like mine when I found myself trapped in the cabin of the sinking ship.
"I was mad with terror. Shouting, I flung myself again and again at the unyielding door, pounding at it with my fists, till, with my knuckles streaming with blood, I was obliged to desist through sheer exhaustion.
Suddenly the doomed vessel listed heavily to port, and I threw myself bodily against the door in a forlorn effort. The framework crashed outwards, and I fell ponderously into the alleyway, where I lay in a half-conscious condition till a rush of water flooding the narrow passage brought back my scattered senses.
"I managed to squeeze through the partially closed companion and gain the deck. The scene of confusion had increased with all the horrors of shipwreck. A few of the less-frenzied members of the crew had lit a tar-barrel, and by the vivid glare of the flames I saw a crowd of half-maddened seamen making a rush for the sole remaining lifeboat.
"In the desperate struggle knives flashed, but whether it was by steel or by water that the wretched, demented creatures met their fate matters little, for directly the boat was lowered it was crushed like an eggshell against the ship's side. There was a short yet terrible shriek of terror, and then the noise of Nature's weapons alone was heard.
"The surviving members of the crew sent up a few rockets, and, in spite of the peril of our situation, we felt cheered by the answering flash from a rocket ashore, and at about the same time the atmosphere cleared somewhat, and I saws a red light giving a double flash at quick intervals.
"Then I knew by the irony of fate that this was St. Catherine's light, and that we were cast on the rocks within sight of home.
"All this time the ship was breaking up fast, and, as wave after wave swept over the doomed vessel, the little knot of survivors grew steadily less, the men being so numbed with continued exposure that they retained no strength to resist their relentless fate.
"I could see that the longer I held on, the more chance there would be of the breaking dawn helping, so that the possibilities of reaching shore in safety would be correspondingly greater, though I had sad misgivings of ever gaining dry land, alive.
"However, I lashed myself securely to a fife-rail, which seemed the least likely to carry away, making a simple hitch, so as to cast myself adrift at the critical moment. The vessel had now listed to such an extent that walking would have been an impossibility, while the remaining portion of the ship trembled under the violent shocks as waves struck the gaping sides and fell in a green cascade over the miserable wretches who cowered to lee'ard.
"At length, after hours of interminable waiting, as it seemed, a grey light began to break over the awful scene, and, looking landwards, I saw the misty outline of the Gribben, though, of course, there were no people visible, neither could they have seen us in that dim light.
"The ship had struck within a hundred yards of the Cannis rock, and in the trough of the breaking seas I could make out the iron standard of the danger beacon, a mockery in our present state.
"At that moment something prompted me to look sideways to see how my fellow-sufferers fared, and to my surprise I made out the figure of one of the Brazilian seamen crawling cautiously towards me. In the semi-darkness I saw that in his right hand he grasped a knife; then, before I could realise the situation, he made a vicious thrust at me with the glittering steel. Even as he did so, the deck seemed to burst upwards, and the miscreant stumbled. The knife fell, but not where it was intended, and, descending on the rope that held me to the rail, it severed it like pack-thread, and the next moment I found myself struggling in the waves.
"I must have been swept across the deck with considerable force, for some time elapsed before I reached the surface, and it was with mingled feelings of despair and exultation that I began to strike out for the shore.
"'Cheer up, Herbert, old man!' I continually exclaimed to myself. 'Everything helps to set you shorewards—wind, waves, and your own efforts. Better be drowned than perish by a knife-thrust, anyway.' And then, in the midst of these encouragements, I thought of the pitiless rocks, and, knowing them as I did, I could form a pretty sure idea of my fate. Just then I noticed something that filled me with renewed hope. The ship was aground, as I have related, within a hundred yards of the Cannis, and now I saw that I was not cast over that jagged rock, but had been borne well to the eastward of it, so that there was a hope—a mere fighting chance—of being swept into the comparatively sheltered waters of Pridmouth Bay.
"I continued to strike out with swift strokes, relying on my strength to last till I reached shore, and my ability to withstand the cold.
"Slowly I neared the shore till the bold headland of the Gribben was abreast, and I had all my work cut out to keep parallel to the ledge of rocks on its eastern side and to prevent myself being swept away from the mouth of the little bay; and, in spite of my efforts, I felt the numbing effects of the icy water gradually telling on my exhausted limbs. How long I kept on swimming I cannot tell, for my actions had become more or less mechanical, till in the trough of an enormous roller I felt my feet touch bottom.
"In another moment I was in the midst of the broken seas, and alternately thrown violently shorewards by one wave and washed back by the undertow, without possessing the strength to save myself, I realized dimly that the little remaining breath I had was being dashed out of my body. Yet in the midst of it all I felt no actual pain, neither did I seem to mind the danger. A vague, unaccountable sensation of indifference gave place to a rapid succession of mental pictures. In a few seconds I had lived my life once again. In times past I have scoffed at similar statements, but now I know it for a fact.
"My last impression of that awful struggle was that I was lying in the soft, yielding sand, with the backwash pouring over me, and the dull roar of an approaching breaker. Then came the crash of the falling cataract, the flash of thousands of brilliant lights, and complete oblivion.
"When I opened my eyes I found myself lying on a rough wooden stool in the garden of a cottage, and a couple of men were chafing my limbs with rough towels. My head throbbed horribly, and I was aware that there was a bandage tied tightly over my temples, from which the blood trickled in a little stream down my face.
"Directly they saw I had come to my senses they carried me over to the cottage, stripping off my wet clothes, and put me into a bed; but, in spite of a dizzy sensation, I soon insisted on getting up, my one desire being to make for home as fast as I could.
"Seeing that I was terribly in earnest, the men rigged me out in some dry clothes, and left me with the intention of borrowing a pony and cart from a neighbouring house; but directly they had gone, a sudden impulse seized me—possibly I was temporarily out of my mind—and I staggered out of the cottage, without reckoning on the long walk home in my tottering condition; but fortunately for me, I had not gone many yards before I saw you and Reggie on ahead, and the rest you know."
"You always were a hare-brained rascal in some respects," remarked my father; "and there was a great possibility of your pegging out through sheer exhaustion, in which case there would have been no survivors from the ill-fated 'Andrea Doria.'"
"Then I suppose I am the only survivor?" asked my uncle.
"I have every reason to believe so," replied my father sadly.
"I think not—at least, I believe I'm right," I exclaimed. "But I didn't like to interrupt Uncle Herbert at the time." And thereupon I told him about my meeting with the foreign-looking sailor on the cliff.
"Yes, I remember you mentioned the circumstance to me," remarked my father. "But why do you suppose the man was a member of the crew of the 'Andrea Doria'? Foreign sailors are not unusual in Fowey."
"But foreigners in saturated clothes do not generally lie concealed in long grass early in the morning."
"What was he like?" asked Uncle Herbert anxiously.
"That's the man to a certainty," declared my uncle decisively, when I had completed the description. "Paulo, they called him. He was one of the two Brazilians we had aboard, and he it was who tried to stab me with a knife."
"Why?"
"That's where you have me. I cannot even guess—unless he was after the cipher."
"Then possibly it was he who stole the papers from your cabin?"
"More than likely. Mark my words, Howard, there is some villainy afoot. Don't you think it would be advisable to set the police on his track?"
"Pooh!" exclaimed my father contemptuously. "We'll hear or see no more of him. Even now he may be working his passage homewards. However, that reminds me: I'll go over to Pridmouth to-morrow and return those well-fitting clothes you were rigged out in, and, at the same time, I'll get hold of the cipher; for, really, I am burning with impatience to tackle the mystery."
SOMEHOW, or the other the news of my uncle's adventures were noised abroad far beyond the limits of our village, and for a week or more we were besieged with letters and telegrams from various people, most of them absolute strangers, offering congratulations, but more frequently asking impertinent questions about the "San Philipo" treasure. Several London and county papers sent representatives down to interview the survivor of the wreck; but to all requests my uncle turned a deaf ear, politely yet firmly refusing to give any information, so that interest in the mystery grew rather than waned; and exaggerated rumours, amusing no doubt to others, appeared in various journals, greatly to my father's and uncle's disgust.
In accordance with his resolution, my father went over to Pridmouth and obtained the metal box with its precious contents, together with the clothes my uncle was wearing at the time of the shipwreck. Curiously enough, his watch, which had been in the water for nearly an hour, was practically uninjured, only a faint trace of rust showing near the hinge, while, on being rewound, it ticked as merrily as ever.
We had arranged to defer the opening of the box till the afternoon, when all three of us would be present; but I firmly believe my father could not resist the temptation of glancing inside to make sure the parchment was still there.
He arrived home in high good humour, for on the return journey, he had picked up a horseshoe and had crossed the ferry in company with a hunchback, both of which incidents are regarded, even in these matter-of-fact days, as being conducive to a run of "good luck"; and preparations were immediately made for the examination of the mysterious relic of old Humphrey Trevena's seafaring days.
I handled the box with a feeling almost of reverence. It was about the size of a cigar-case, and made of a dull, heavy metal resembling bronze, although tarnished with the effects of time and exposure to the salt water. It was embellished on the front of the outside by quaint figures representing Boreal urging a seventeenth-century frigate on its course, with Neptune and Britannia holding a friendly conference in the background, and, on the back, by a monogram of letters "H.T." and the date 1719.
"Open it, Reggie," said my father; and, after I had fumbled about with the spring for a few moments, the lid flew open, and I saw for the first time the puzzling piece of parchment which was fated to lead us through great perils by land and by water ere we accomplished our quest.
With trembling hands I unfolded the paper, my father and uncle looking eagerly over my shoulder. As Uncle Herbert had already informed us, there was nothing but a big square subdivided into a host of smaller ones, and a few unintelligible words and the symbols of degrees, minutes, and seconds of latitude and longitude, with no figures given, save a solitary figure 1.
Here, in fact, is a copy of it—
image: 03_unsolved.jpg
image: 03_unsolved.jpg
[Illustration: The unsolved cipher.]
[Illustration: The unsolved cipher.]
"Well?" asked my uncle, elevating his eyebrows. "What do you make of it, Howard?"
"Give me time. What does he mean by 'steer nor.'-east,' I wonder?"
"That's what has been puzzling me, for in his log Humphrey states definitely that he followed the 'San Philipo' in a nor'-westerly direction, consequently the directions appear to be misleading."
"Possibly they were intended to be so," replied my father dryly. "But these marks of latitude and longitude—do they convey anything?"
"Nothing, except that certain numbers are evidently intended to fill in the squares so indicated,and the puzzle is, whatare these numbers?"
"Ah, what?"
"I tell you what; I can see it all now. Amongst the other papers that were stolen was the key to the cipher. Don't you remember my saying that one sheet contained a host of figures? Howard, old man, I am a careless idiot and deserve to be kicked for my negligence."
"It can't be helped," replied my father philosophically. "What is done cannot be undone, so the less said about it the better. We must rack our brains to find a solution to the cipher without the aid of the key. Don't look so glum, Herbert. Better luck next time."
Long after I had gone to bed my parent and his brother pored over the stubborn cipher, either with the aid of frequent references to the log of the "Anne" or the chart of the Pacific, which had been ordered from Potter's some time ago. They must have sat up half the night, for they were both late at breakfast next morning and were horribly short-tempered in consequence.
I went to school that morning as usual, but the excitement of the previous day proved too much for my attention, and, in consequence, I was sent to detention for an hour. If there is anything I loathe, detention holds an easy first, for the monotony of an hour's imprisonment at the end of the day, is particularly galling to a boy fond of outdoor pursuits. I am sure the junior masters do not appreciate the task of looking after the delinquents either, and Newman, the Second Form master, was no exception. So in less than a quarter of an hour he cleared out, leaving us to our own devices.
The fellow at the desk next to mine, a boarder named Ward, of the Upper Fifth, who was ever in hot water, was busily engaged in covering sheets of paper with roughly drawn lines, and as he appeared to derive a considerable amount of satisfaction from the task, I remarked:
"What are you up to, Ward; noughts and crosses?"
"Noughts and crosses, my grandmother!"
"What, then?"
"Trying my hand at a magic square."
"A magic what?"
"Square, you ass! look and see for yourself."
On closer examination I found that he had drawn a rough square and had subdivided it into nine smaller ones, by means of two horizontal and two vertical parallel lines, and the spaces thus formed he was busily filling in with the numbers 1 to 9.
"What happens when you finish it? Where does the magic part of the show come in?" I asked. "It seems a very tame sort of amusement."
"Not when you get thoroughly interested in it," replied Ward. "You see, the idea is to arrange the figures so that each of the horizontal, vertical, and diagonal rows make a total of fifteen. It takes a bit of juggling, I assure you, and I am told that even larger magic squares can be formed. Ah! That's done it."
With a slightly growing interest I watched Ward manipulate the figures until he arrived at the solution, which, for some unexplained reason, I copied down—
image: 04_square.jpg
image: 04_square.jpg
[Illustration: A magic square.]
[Illustration: A magic square.]
"There are other arrangements of the numbers," he remarked; "for instance, you can get another magic square by exchanging the top and bottom lines or the outside vertical columns; but I have not managed a larger square yet. Hello! Here comes Newman, so it must be close on half-past five."
The miserable hour over, I made my way homewards, revolving in my mind the problem of Humphrey Trevena's cipher, till by some unaccountable impulse, as I was sitting in the ferry-boat that plies between Fowey and Polruan, I formed some hazy connection between Ward's magic square and the exaggerated chessboard design that was so sorely puzzling my father and uncle.
Rapidly the connection grew, till by the time the boat ran alongside Polruan quay-steps I firmly assured myself that Old Humphrey's cipher was based on the principle of a magic square; and, arguing that the solution of the "fifteen" square must be governed by some fixed rule, I determined to try to solve the working of Ward's puzzle, and to apply the principle, if possible, to the more complicated cipher.
With this object in view, I began my task. My father and uncle had gone out to the Yacht Club, so that I knew I should be free from interruption.
My first step was to make a copy of the magic square and indicate the order of the numbers by straight lines from one to the other. When completed, the diagram looked positively bewildering, and the only information I could gather was that the numbers 4, 5, 6 formed one of the diagonals, and ran obliquely from the bottom left-hand corner to the upper right-hand one, and that the centre number was the 5, or, the numeral next to half the highest number of the squares.
Next I tried a "twenty-five" square, the diagonal reading 11, 12, 13, 14, 15. The position of the 1 I had already fixed by that in the smaller square, which, by a sudden inspiration, I remembered occupied the same relative position in Humphrey Trevena's cipher. As in the "nine" square the 7 came immediately below the 6; I adapted the principle by placing the 16 in the square below the 15.
All this took time, but I felt satisfied that I was on the right track, till I came to the rest of the numbers, and, try how I would, I could not apply the principle any farther.
At length, with bewildered brain and aching head, I gave up the task for the time being, and, putting on my cap and calling my dog, I set out for a ramble to try and cool my heated brow.
I intended to walk in the direction of Lanteglos, and make a circuit through Hall Walk, Bodinneck Ferry, and Fowey, but, on reaching the little hamlet of Pont, I sat down on the handrail of the little wooden bridge, and amused myself by sending the dog into the water. At length I desisted, and, ignoring the antics of my faithful companion, I fell into a brown study—a thing under ordinary circumstances I rarely do.
Twilight was drawing in, and against the vivid red hue in the western sky the placid waters of the tree-fringed creek made an entrancing picture, that harmonized with my dreams of adventure in the future, like a presage of good fortune.
Unconsciously I found myself toying with a pocket compass I invariably carried, and as my eyes lingered for a moment on the delicately balanced needle, I saw in my mind's eye, not the compass card, but the outlines of a magic square, with the needle forming the puzzling diagonal. In the haphazard position I held the compass the needle pointed to N.E. on the card, and, like a flash, occurred the directions scrawled upon the mysterious cipher, "Steer nor'-east."
"I have it!" I exclaimed aloud in my excitement. "'Steer nor.'-east' must be old Humphrey's way of expressing the sequence of the numbers on his cipher; and that is the direction of the diagonal."
Without a moment's delay, I hastened home to make a fresh onslaught upon the puzzle, and, to make a long story short, I solved the "twenty-five" square by constructing two similar squares on its north and south sides—i.e. the top right-hand sides—and starting with the figure 1 and working in a N.E. direction, so that directly a number fell within one of the divisions of the adjacent squares, I transferred it to the corresponding division of the original design. But when by this means I came to a space already occupied by a number, I found, by consulting the already completed nine-divisioned square, that the next number was placed in the vacant space that invariably occurred below.
The completed square, which I regarded with considerable satisfaction, appeared as under—
image: 05_bigger.jpg
image: 05_bigger.jpg
[Illustration: A bigger magic square.]
[Illustration: A bigger magic square.]
Total of each vertical, horizontal, and diagonal line = 65.
Now came the crucial test of constructing a square with the same number of subdivisions as there were on Humphrey's cipher, and an intelligent application of the figures to the symbols of latitude and longitude; but here I was nonplussed, for I had no copy of the cipher, neither could I remember the actual numbers of subdivisions.
Just then, however, my father and uncle returned, and while at supper they did not fail to notice my excitement.
"Whatever is the matter with you, Reggie?" asked Uncle Herbert. "You look like a cat on hot bricks."
I was burning with impatience to let them know of my evening's work and its results, but, fearing that after all there might be some flaw in my theory, and having another motive in view, I managed to restrain myself.
Little more was said during the meal, but on its completion preparations were made to continue the investigations of the mystery.
"I say, pater," I exclaimed. "Don't you think it would be better to make a copy of the cipher: it would save the original, you know."
"Just so, Reggie, I will; but I think it's about time you went to bed."
"Another hour won't make much difference," I replied. "You see, to-morrow's a holiday."
My father assented, and gleefully I set about the task of making a duplicate of the cipher, of which I was now firmly convinced I held the key.
It was not a long business, and when completed, I stealthily removed a second copy which I had obtained by means of a carbon paper, and announced my intention of "turning in."
It was, however, far from my thoughts to go to bed, and directly I reached the solitude of my room I set to work to fill up the blank spaces of the cipher, which, thanks to my previous trials with the smaller squares, was a comparatively rapid and easy task.
image: 06_solved.jpg
image: 06_solved.jpg
Total of every horizontal, vertical row = 1695[Illustration: THE SOLVED CIPHER.]
In less than an hour I had completed the solution, checking the totals, which in every case amounted to the sum of 1,695; and, applying the marks of latitude and longitude, I found that the position was 7° 24' 41" N. and 151° 45' 11" W., which, in spite of the absence of an atlas, I knew would be somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.
Cautiously I made my way downstairs, holding the completed cipher rolled tightly in my hand. The dining-room door was slightly ajar, and through the opening I could see my father and uncle leaning over the table, which was littered with charts, papers, and writing materials.
"I am afraid we are checkmated," I heard my father remark despondently. "The treasure of the 'San Philipo,' will never come within our grasp."
As I entered the room they both looked up in amazement.
"Reggie!" exclaimed my father deprecatingly.
"All right, pater," I replied, with the boldness acquired by my success. "I want to make a bargain with you."
"A bargain? I don't understand."
"What I mean to say is this: If you make a search for the 'San Philipo' treasure, promise me that I can go too."
"Bless the boy!" ejaculated Uncle Herbert. "What does he mean?"
"The possibility of a search is very remote," said my father, "as we have absolutely no definite information to work upon, and no likelihood of gaining any; but I really don't understand what you mean by the word 'bargain.'"
"I mean," I replied stoutly, "that if I find a key to the cipher, do I take part in the search?"
"I see no reason why you shouldn't if——"
"Then you promise?"
"Yes."
"Thanks," I replied, flourishing the paper I held in my hand.
"EXPLAIN yourself, you young rascal," exclaimed my uncle, gripping me by the shoulder in his excitement.
In reply I handed over my solution, explaining in a few words the principle of the magic square. For a few moments neither of them spoke. The pater, seizing a ruler, made a rough pencil mark on a chart of the Pacific that lay on the table; then, bringing his powerful fist down so heavily that the glasses and drawing instruments fairly jumped, he almost shouted—
"Why, you are a regular brick, Reggie! That's it right enough."
"Are there any islands shown on the chart?" asked my Uncle Herbert.
"Several; but let's turn up Findlay's Directory of the Pacific. Hello! What have we here? 'Truk or Hogoleu Islands. This group is composed of four or five lofty basaltic islands, surrounded by a barrier reef.... Discovered by Captain Duperrey, June 24, 1824' (that is, if Humphrey Trevena hadn't done so a century before). 'The northernmost of the group is in lat. 7° 42' 30" N.' (probably San Philipo Island skipped the navigator's memory). It seems possible that an island does exist at this position eh, Herbert?"
"Certainly. Do they give any further information?"
"Yes; here is a choice piece: 'Captain Cheyne, of the brigs "Naiad" and "Will-o'-the Wisp," came here to collect bêche-de-mer, and were completely taken off their guard by the apparent friendliness of the natives, who at first assisted them to build their curing-houses. As soon as the "Naiad" left, they attacked the "Wisp" with a force of 2,000 men, and were only repulsed with desperate fighting and the loss of six killed and five wounded. They also seized the long-boat, which was recovered the same day.... They had a great number of large Spanish knives, and were armed with brass-hilted cutlasses.'"
"'Spanish knives and brass-hilted cutlasses,'" repeated my uncle. "That's strange."
"It certainly points to a wreck of some Spanish war-vessel in bygone days."
"What do you intend to do in the matter?"
"Why, fit out an expedition," replied my father decisively. "I've already formed a rough plan of action, but it is too late to discuss it to-night. It's time we were all turned in and fast asleep."
So saying, my father swept the papers and charts off the table, locked the former in a safe, and placed the metal box with the now solved cipher in his pocket, then motioned us to retire, and extinguished the lamp.
But for me, sleep was an impossibility. The exciting events of the past few days, culminating in my fortunate discovery, kept me awake, and in almost a fever of suppressed mental activity I was continually turning from side to side in a fruitless endeavour to sleep.
Outside the wind was howling across the harbour, making the trees shiver and creak in a weird and disturbing manner. Presently the clock struck two, and at almost the same time a current of air rushed into my room, causing the half-open door to swing back against the wall.
"Surely they cannot have forgotten to shut the hall door," I thought, and, jumping out of bed, I walked silently towards the staircase. The other inmates had been more fortunate than I; my father was sleeping soundly, while his brother was snoring heavily, the place seemingly trembling under the vibrations of his sonorous efforts, and even as I listened I heard a faint click as if the dining-room door was being opened.
Instantly I crept into uncle's room, gently closed the door, and shook him by the shoulder.
"Wake up!" I whispered. "There's some one broken into the house."
"No luck," he muttered. "Twenty fathoms down. Try again to-morrow," and, turning over, he recommenced his discordant snoring. "Wake up!" I repeated, redoubling the shaking performance. "There's a burglar after the cipher."
The word "cipher" did it, for in an instant he was up and fully awake.
"Hush! Listen!" And carefully opening the door, I hastened to my father's room to arouse him.
We sallied forth to meet the foe; my father and uncle led the way, the latter grasping a revolver, while I followed, feeling somewhat disjointed in my lower limbs.
At the top of the stairs we waited for further signs of the burglar, and in the dismal silence, broken only by the moaning of the wind, I could feel my heart throbbing violently against my ribs. At length came the unmistakable sounds of some one moving cautiously.
A man must naturally feel at a disadvantage when, clad mainly in pyjamas, he is forced single-handed to tackle a house-breaking ruffian; but, with three of us, and the comforting reassurance imparted by the revolver, the deficiency of wardrobe counted for little.
Suddenly the silence was broken by the noise of a furious scuffle, followed by a shriek of pain, and, concealment being no longer necessary, the brothers dashed downstairs. My uncle led in the race, but, tripping over a man's body, he lay half-stunned, while my father, who followed more cautiously, narrowly escaped the same fate. Then some one rushed quickly through the hall and began to fumble with the lock of the front door, and, as the door was thrown violently open, there was a blinding flash from the vicinity of the floor, followed by another yell of pain, and the pungent smell of gunpowder filled the air.
"That's settled his hash, Howard," I heard my uncle exclaim. "Get a light and see what we are up to."
I made for the dining-room to light the lamp, and as I crossed the hall my bare feet stepped in a pool of warm liquid. With trembling fingers I struck a match and lighted the lamp, and, returned to the scene of the struggle.
My uncle was leaning against the wall, the still smoking revolver in his hand, and my father was leaning over a motionless figure huddled at the foot of the stairs, while a stream of blood, through which I had stepped, slowly welled across the floor.
"The man has been stabbed!" exclaimed Uncle Herbert. "Whatever does it mean?"
"Get another light—a hurricane lamp, there's one in the kitchen—and run the other man down. You winged him right enough, Herbert; he can't be far away."
The light was procured, and following a well-defined trail outside the door, we ran the other burglar to earth, in a shrubbery close to the garden gate.
Simultaneously, my uncle and I recognised him—it was the Brazilian seaman who had tried to stab my uncle on the wreck, and whom I had seen lying on the cliff path.
While my uncle covered him with a revolver, for he snarled viciously like a wounded animal at bay, my father relieved him of his knife, and, lifting him by their combined efforts, they carried him into the house; but before reaching the door he had fainted.
"He's shot through the fleshy part of his right leg," said my father. "Just put on a temporary bandage till we can attend to the other beauty. Whatever made them fight each other like that, I wonder?"
"I don't know," replied my uncle, ripping the man's trousers with a penknife and winding a long strip of linen round the wound, for the bullet had cut a clean hole right through the Brazilian's leg. "But you see there is something very mysterious in the manner in which this scoundrel has followed me up."
"Now for the other man," exclaimed my father. "I am afraid he has been badly hurt. Why, Herbert, you have had a gash yourself—look!"
"Pooh! A mere nothing. I hardly felt it."
"But it's bleeding pretty freely."
"Yes, the Brazilian made a jab at me as he broke away. But who's this?"
They had lifted the man who had been left lying at the foot of the stairs, and carried him, still unconscious, into the kitchen. He was apparently quite a young man, with closely cropped hair and clean-shaven face, or, rather, his chin was covered with a four days' growth of bristling hair, while his dress consisted of a close-fitting suit of dark blue cloth, the coat-tails tucked in under the trouser band. "Here's a fine bird!" remarked Uncle Herbert, as he began to cut away the odd-looking clothing to get at a wound in the man's side. "You know where he comes from?"
"No," replied my father.
"Bodmin. He's escaped from the naval prison."
"I wonder what he's been up to," remarked my father thoughtfully. "A naval prisoner does not usually associate with foreign seamen, and burglars to boot."
"It's a clean cut, and not particularly dangerous," announced Uncle Herbert. "Bring the light closer, Reggie. Hello!" he added, looking at my face, which must have been horribly white. "This won't do. Run away to the other room, and, keep your head between your knees till you feel better. I can't have three patients on my hands."
I did as I was bid, for everything was beginning to whirl round. Presently my father came in to get some brandy, for the second patient was recovering. As daylight began to dawn, they carried the man upstairs to my room, and presently, after a good deal of talking, my father and uncle came downstairs.
"Run upstairs and get your things on, Reggie," said my father. "I want you to fetch the police sergeant. But, remember, don't say a word to any one about the man we have upstairs. It's only the Brazilian we are going to give in charge; he's coming to now. Remember what I say, and I'll tell you the reason later."
"Did I understand him to say that the Brazilian was coming downstairs?" I heard my father remark.
"Yes, I believe so," replied my uncle.
"Then he must have been in one of our rooms. Only to think that that dirty scoundrel was hanging around us with his knife while we were asleep! I'll go upstairs and see if anything is touched."
A moment later I heard my father shout, "It's gone!"
"What's gone?" asked Uncle Herbert.
"The box containing the cipher."
"It can't be far, at all events," said my uncle. "Let's search the brute."
I am afraid they were none too gentle with the man, but a thorough search revealed nothing.
"Try the place where we caught him," suggested the pater, and we all three went outdoors, carefully examining the well-defined trail. After a lengthy search we found, not only the box, but a bundle of papers cunningly hidden under the shrubbery in a tangled mass of twigs and leaves.
After glancing at the contents of the metal box, which was still intact, my father opened the packet of papers, and, to our surprise, they were the actual documents filched from my uncle's cabin on the ill-fated "Andrea Doria."
"You have only forestalled Fate by a few hours, Reggie," remarked the pater. "You see, here is the exact key to the cipher—the figures your uncle took to be merely business papers. However, run on down for the police."
As I passed through the hall to get my cap, I gave an involuntary exclamation of surprise, for there were no signs of the Brazilian.
In reply to my shout, my father and uncle came running up, and their astonishment was, in spite of the situation, comical to behold. We made a hasty yet thorough search of the house and grounds, with no result. The man had vanished as completely as if he had been provided with wings.
"But he cannot get far, with a badly wounded leg," I remarked.
"It certainly is strange; but he must have a wonderful nerve to play 'possum like that. However, I think we need not send for the police, after all; for they will think we are either mad or else inventing fairy-tales."
Everything considered, there was not much to grumble about. We had, it is true, a wounded man on our hands, and Uncle Herbert had received a slight cut from the Brazilian's knife; but as a set-off we had regained the papers, though they served merely to confirm my solution to the cipher, while the Brazilian, who had an ounce of lead through his leg, would hardly care to repeat his burgling exploits after such a disastrous ending to his first attempt.
While at breakfast they told me about the wounded man upstairs, and why I was not to have mentioned him to the police.
The man, who gave his name as Alec Johnston, a Scotsman, had broken out of Bodmin Naval Prison, where he had been sent after being sentenced by court-martial for the heinous offence, in naval law, of striking a superior officer. He appeared, said my father, to be a well-set-up, healthy young fellow, with a fair amount of intellect, and there was no reason to doubt his story.
Left an orphan at an early age, he was sent by his relatives to the training-ship "St. Vincent." In due course he was "passed out" and sent on a sea-going ship, and, by thorough devotion to his duty, bade fair speedily to become a petty officer. By some means or other he incurred the enmity of a bully, who, by a fawning subservience to his superiors, had been recently made a bos'n's mate, and the climax was reached when Johnston refused to participate in a drunken spree ashore. From that time his life on board became intolerable. Under the cloak of discipline the bos'n's mate seized every possible opportunity to humiliate and insult the young seaman, till one day the young Scot turned upon his tormentor and struck him violently in the face.
The circumstances of this breach of discipline were reported to the Commander, and at the court-martial, where the evidence in support of the prosecution was given by a ship's corporal and two seamen, neither of whom witnessed the assault, the draconic sentence of two years' hard labour, to be followed by dismissal from H.M. service, was passed upon the hapless Scot.
Smarting under the gross injustice of his sentence, Johnston seized the first opportunity of effecting his escape under circumstances of remarkable audacity, and, travelling by night and hiding by day, he made his way towards the coast, trusting to find a sympathetic fisherman to give him a passage away from the danger zone.
Chance led him to the neighbourhood of Polruan, and, as a change of clothes was essential, he resolved to break into a house and procure some garments less distinctive than his own. A fortunate circumstance prompted him to effect an entry into our house.
Now, as it happened, the Brazilian had removed a pane of glass and opened a window barely ten minutes before, and, in order to facilitate his retreat, he had drawn the bolts of both the front and back doors. This he had done without disturbing any of us, and had actually crept into my father's room and removed the cipher from his coat-pocket.
In the meantime the sailor had found the front door ajar and had cautiously made his way into the house, though the slight noise he had made caused me to be on the alert. In the hall he took down an overcoat and hat, but, requiring other articles of clothing, he made up his mind to risk a visit to the upstairs rooms.
Just as he was ascending the stairs he encountered the Brazilian, and, in the darkness, each imagined the other to be one of the occupiers of the house. In almost dead silence they grappled, struggling fiercely and determinedly, till, overbalancing, they both fell in a heap at the foot of the stairs, at the very moment that we were leaning over the balustrades.
Then it was that the Brazilian, whipping out his formidable knife, stabbed the sailor and broke away, only to be "winged" by my uncle's shot.
Thus we were under an obligation to the unfortunate Alec Johnston for his burglarious act. But for him the Brazilian might have got clean away with both the cipher and its key. As far as we knew, he might be an agent for some syndicate of rogues in Pernambuco, who, knowing the history of the "San Philipo," might instantly fit out a vessel to attempt to recover the treasure.
Both my father and his brother expressed themselves very strongly on the subject of the gross injustice done to the young seaman, and, coming to the conclusion that there would be no moral wrong done in concealing the man under these circumstances, they decided to befriend him, or at least to take no active steps in preventing his bid for freedom.