—then it was in the boat. Then, all grace gone, he was half in and half out of the boat, his skin scraping the hard sides of it, struggling, being pulled and tugged, wet skin slipping. . . .
He was in the boat.
He leaned over the side, and, as they pulled and pressed, fearful of his going back again, he vomited into the waters.
Captain Sneed had never been so angry. "Well, what did you expect crocodile's den to smell like?" he demanded. "Attar of roses? Damndest foolishest crack-brainedest thing I ever saw—!"
Felix said, smoothing Jack's wet, wet hair, "I think it was brave!"
"You know nothing whatsoever about it, my dear child!—No, damn it, don't keep waving that damned old pipkin pot you managed to drag up, you damned Canuck! Seven hours under fire at Jutland, and I never had such an infernal shock, it was reckless, it was heedless, it was thoughtless, it was devil-may-care and a louse for the hangman; what was the reason for it, may I ask? To impress whom? Eh? Me? These good men? These young women? Why did you do it?"
All Limekiller could say was, "I dreamed that I had to."
Captain Sneed looked at him, mouth open. Then he said, almost in a mutter, "Oh, I say, poor old boy, he's still rambling, ill, looked well enough, must have the fever. . . ." He was a moment silent. Then he blinked, gaped; almost in a whisper, he asked. "You dreamed. . . . Whom did you see in your dream?"
Limekiller shrugged. "Don't know who. . . . Oldish man. Sharp face. Tan. Old-fashioned clothes. Looked like a sort of a dandy, you might say."
And Captain Sneed's face, which had gone from scarlet to pink and then to scarlet again, now went muddy. They distinctly heard him swallow. Then he looked at the earthenware jar with its faded umber pattern. Then, his lips parting with a sort of dry smack: ". . . perhaps it isn't stuff and piffle, then. . . ."
Ashore.
Sneed had insisted that the police be present. It was customary in Hidalgo to use the police in many ways not customary in the northern nations: to record business agreements, for instance, in places where there were no lawyers. And to witness. Sergeant Bickerstaff said that he agreed with Sneed. He said, also, that he had seen more than one old Indian jar opened and that when they were not empty they usually contained mud and that when they did not contain mud they usually contained "grahss-seed, cahrn-ker-nel, thing like that. Never find any gold in one, not before my eye, no, sirs and ladies—But best you go ahead and open it."
The cover pried off, right-tight to the brim was a mass of dark and odorous substance, pronounced to be wild beeswax.
The last crumble of it evaded the knife, sank down into the small jar, which was evidently not filled but only plugged with it. They turned it upside down and the crumble of unbleached beeswax fell upon the table. And so did something else.
"Plastic," said May. "To think that the ancient Indians had invented plastic. Create a furor in academic circles. Invalidate God knows how many patents."
Sergeant Bickerstaff, unmoved by irony, said, "Best unwrop it, Coptain."
The plastic contained one dead wasp or similar insect, and two slips of paper. On one was written, in a firm old-fashioned hand, the words, Page 36, Liber 100. Registers of Deeds of Gift, Mountains District. The other was more complex. It seemed to be a diagram of sorts, and along the top and sides of it the same hand had written several sentences, beginning, From the great rock behind Crocodile Cove and proceeding five hundred feet due North into the area called Richardson's Mahogany Lines. . . .
It was signed, L.A.E. Pike.
There was a silence. Then Felix said, not exactly jumping up and down, but almost, her loops of coppery hair giving a bounce, "A treasure map! Jack! Oh, good!"
So far as he could recall, she had never called him by name before. His heart echoed: Oh, good!
Captain Sneed, pondering, seemingly by no means entirely recovered from his several shocks, but recovered enough, said:
'Too late to go poking about in the bush, today. First thing tomorrow, get some men, some machetes, axes, shovels—Eh?"
He turned to Police-sergeant Bickerstaff, who had spoken softly. And now repeated his words, still softly. But firmly. "First thing, sir. First thing supposed to be to notify the District Commissioner. Mister Jefferson Pike."
He was of course correct. As Captain Sneed agreed at once. Limekiller asked, "Any relation to the late Mr. Leopold Pike?" Bickerstaff nodded. "He is a bahstard son of the late Mr. Leopold Pike." The qualifying adjective implied neither insult nor disrespect. He said it as calmly, as mildly, as if he had said step-son. Cousin. Uncle. It was merely a civil answer to a civil question. A point of identification had been raised, been settled.
D.C. Jefferson Pike was taller than his father had been, but the resemblance, once suggested, was evident. If any thoughts of an estate which he could never inherit were in his mind, they were not obvious. "Well, this is something new," was all his initial comment. Then, "I will ask my chief clark. . . . Roberts. Fetch us Liber 100, Register of Deeds of Gift. Oh, and see if they cannot bring some cups of tea for our visitors, please."
The tea was made and half drunk before Roberts, who did not look dilatory, returned, wiping dust and spiderwebs off the large old book. Which was now opened. Pages turned. "Well, well," said the District Commissioner. "This is something new!
"Don't know how they came to overlook this," he wondered. "The lawyers," he added. "Who registered it? Oh. Ahah. I see. Old Mr. Athelny; been dead several years. And always kept his own counsel, too. Quite proper. Well." He cleared his throat, began to read:
I, Leopold Albert Edward Pike, Woodcutter and Timber Merchant, Retired, a resident of the Town of Saint Michael of the Mountains, Mountains District, in the Colony of British Hidalgo, and a British subject by birth . . . do execute this Deed of Gift . . . videlicet one collection of gold and silver coins, not being Coin of the Realm or Legal Tender, as follows, Item, one hundred pieces of eight reales, Item, fifty-five gold Lewises or louis d'or, Item . . .
He read them all, the rich and rolling old names, the gold moidores and gold mohurs, the golden guineas, the silver byzants and all the rest, as calmly as though he were reading off an inventory of office supplies; came finally to:
and all these and any others which by inadvertancy may not be herein listed which are found in the same place and location I do hereby give and devise to one Elizabeth Mendoza also known as Betty Mendoza a.k.a. Elizabeth Pike a.k.a. Betty Pike, an infant now resident in the aforesaid Mountains District, which Gift I make for good and sufficient reason and of my own mere whim and fancy . . .
Here the D.C. paused, raised his eyes, looked at Captain Sneed. Who nodded. Said, "His own sound and voice. Yes. How like him!"
. . . and fancy; the aforesaid collection of gold and silver coins being secured in this same District in a place which I do not herein designate or describe other than to say that it be situate on my own freehold lands in this same District. And if anyone attempt to resist or set aside this my Intention, I do herewith and hereafter declare that he, she or they shall not sleep well of nights.