“It’s a good excuse,” returned Aynsley. “In a way, I’m glad you’re too busy to come, because I imagine my father is very keen on finishing the job, and I don’t want him to get worrying about the delay.” He paused, and added frankly: “I’m going to ask a favor. He’s not well, and I gather that you and he are to some extent opposed. Now I can’t expect you to sacrifice your interest, but you might try to avoid any heated dispute as far as possible. Excitement isn’t good for him.”
“We can promise that,” said Jimmy. “It looks as if you knew nothing about the business.”
“I don’t. And, more than that, I have no wish to learn anything.”
“We’re not in a position to tell you much if you pressed us; but it struck us that your father wasn’t looking very fit, and it might be better if you stopped him from going down.”
“I can’t,” Aynsley answered with a smile. “I’m afraid I haven’t much control over him.”
Early in the evening Clay came on board and sat in the cockpit while the men relieved each other below. He asked a question now and then, but for the most part waited quietly, watching the bubbles that rose in milky effervescence.
At last the diver came up, and was followed closely by Bethune, bringing a rope.
“The strong-room’s open,” he said exultantly. “Heave on that line and see what you get!”
Moran pulled with a will, for there was some resistance to be overcome, and Jimmy leaned down in strong excitement when a wooden case smeared with sand broke the surface. Seizing it he came near to being dragged over the rail, and Bethune had to help him to lift it on board. Clay examined the case coolly, studying the half-washed-out marks.
“You ought to get something handsome for salvage on that, and I won’t contest your claim,” he said. “Keep it on board if you like; our diver’s paid by the day. Now, if you’re ready, we’ll go down.”