"With politics! Exactly," agreed my great-uncle. "Well, perhaps I do. 'Tis true that so far I have obtained trifling advantage from the sport, excluding one substantial fortune, this vessel we are in and the information which makes it possible for me to take this year's treasure-ship."
Flint sat erect. I caught my breath. Peter, too, showed a gleam of excitement in his little eyes that twinkled from behind the ramparts of flesh that masked his solemn face.
"—— me, Murray!" swore Flint. "Do you say that in sober earnest?"
"I do. Do you remember that we cruised off the Spanish coast last Spring and Fall, and that two months since I sent a periague into the Havana? During our Spanish cruises I established connections with a group of Jacobite gentlemen who know me and placed before them the outline of a plan, the acceptance of which they communicated to me in dispatches the periague fetched to Spyglass Island. In those dispatches I was notified to meet my principal confederate in New York on a certain date. I met him. The necessary arrangements were consummated, and it simply remains for us to execute the plan."
Flint clutched at his beaker of rum and emptied it shakily into his throat.
"How—how much?" he quavered.
"One million five hundred thousand pounds."
There was a moment of silence. The clean, golden sunlight flooded through the stern windows and dappled the polished surface of the table with darting molts and beams. Flint's jaw dropped on his chest. His green eyes glared. Peter and I were as dazed as himself. Only my great-uncle remained calm, pacing quietly up and down the carpeted deck, eyes fixed upon some vision of the future.
"All—that?" stammered Flint. "'Sdeath! 'T would be the greatest haul in our time, Murray.
"It is ours," affirmed Murray. "Upon terms."