“Right,” said Candon, “and now, if you’ll take that styleographic pen I see sticking out of your vest pocket and give’s a bit of paper, we’ll draw the contract.”
Hank produced the pen and an old bill on the back of which the “contract” was made out, under the terms of which Candon was to receive five thousand dollars and a set ashore after the Dutchman had been brought safe aboard the Wear Jack, also he was to take the expedition to the spot where, to the best of his belief, was cached the Dutchman’s plunder.
This done, Candon went back to his engine cleaning, having produced and handed over to Hank four ten dollar notes.
“I’ll want a toothbrush and a couple of shirts and a couple of suits of pyjamas,” said he. “Maybe, as I can’t get ashore, you’ll get them for me. All my truck’s on board the Heart.”
“Bud,” said Hank to his partner that night, “I hope to the Lord we ain’t stung. Suppose the chap’s some practical joker put on us by Barrett, or the boys at the Club.”
“Nonsense,” said George. “Where’d be the sense? Besides the chap’s genuine. You have only to look at his face....”
CHAPTER XI
NIGHT
THE week before the sailing of the Wear Jack was a busy time for the Fisher Syndicate and business was not expedited owing to the fact that Candon had to be kept hidden. The red-bearded one seemed happy enough, spending most of his time in the engine room smoking cigarettes. At nights, safe with Hank in the “saloon,” his mind disclosed itself in his conversation.