"Is he alive?" came from mother and son simultaneously.
"He is—or was three months ago. At Zaruth, on the Siberian coast—where the stone chest was left—we—more drink—quick!"
Again the sufferer had a relapse.
"The stone chest caused the trouble. There was gold and silver, and after the wreck——"
"Never mind the gold and silver. Where is my husband?" interrupted Mrs.
Cromwell.
"I was going to tell you. We started for—for——" The man gasped for breath. "It's my head. We started for the coast, when the people living there who had seen the stone chest, got together and—oh!"
The sufferer fell back in a spasm of pain, from which it was almost impossible to revive him. At last he spoke again.
"He was made a prisoner, and;—water, or I die—I can't drink—it is growing dark—the papers in my pocket are for you—and may Heaven forgive me!"
The man leaped almost to his feet, then fell back in another spasm. A minute later he was dead. With tenderness mother and son cared for the body. In one of the seaman's pockets was found a packet of papers yellow with age.
Bob opened the packet and looked over the paper with interest. An hour passed. Then the youth sprang to his feet.