“Get them up; they’re in the sand. You can have my diver, and it shouldn’t take you long. You’re welcome to the salvage; it isn’t worth fighting you about. After that, there will be nothing left in her. I give you my word for it, and you can clear out when you like.”
“None of us wants to stay; we have had enough. I suppose you have no idea of going down again?”
“No,” Clay answered rather grimly; “it doesn’t seem probable. I haven’t thanked you yet for bringing me up.” He turned to Aynsley. “Mr. Farquhar stuck to me when I was half conscious and helpless. I’d like you to remember that. Now I want a quiet talk with him.”
Aynsley left them, and Clay was silent for a moment or two. He lay back on the pillows with his eyes closed, and when he spoke it seemed to be with an effort.
“About the bogus case? What are you going to do with it?”
“We have been too busy to think of that. You spoke of an exchange, but of course we haven’t the thing here—”
“No,” said Clay. “Your partner’s pretty smart and I guess you have got it safely locked up in one of the Island ports. The chances are that you won’t be able to give it to me.”
Jimmy understood him. Clay seemed to know that he was very ill. He lay quiet again, as if it tired him to talk.
“It has been a straight fight on your side,” he resumed after his short rest. “I guess you might give that box to Osborne. You’re white men, and, though you might perhaps make trouble about it, the thing’s no use to you. You know Osborne?”
“Yes,” Jimmy answered rather awkwardly, because he saw what the question implied. Clay had judged him correctly; for Jimmy had no wish to extort a price for keeping a dark secret. He thought he could answer for his comrades, though he would not make a binding promise without their consent.