“I’m a trader,” Jaques remarked. “I want a fair profit on the money I lay out; but I stop at that. All the money I take is for value supplied.”
Jaques turned to Jimmy.
“Now that we’re talking about it, did you see where Clay got that case?”
“I didn’t; nor did anybody else. We were too busy to trouble about examining the hole he crawled into. I suppose there must have been a space between the top of the strong-room and the floor of the poop cabin.”
“It’s a curious place to stow a box of gold. You can understand their putting the sham case in the strong-room if they meant to wreck the boat; but then why didn’t they ship the genuine stuff by another vessel?”
“That,” said Bethune, smiling, “is the point where my theory breaks down. The only explanation I can think of seems too far-fetched to mention.”
“We will let it go,” Mrs. Jaques interposed quickly. “What do you suggest doing with the gold you brought home?”
“We’ll take it to the underwriters and press for all the salvage we can get. If they’re not inclined to be liberal, we’ll go to court.”
“And the sham box? Will you give them that?” Mrs. Jaques asked.
Jimmy had been expecting the question, and he saw that he must speak. He knew that a fraud had been plotted in connection with the wreck; but it was not his business to investigate the matter. He admitted that this view might be challenged, but he was determined to act upon it. Suspicion rested on Osborne; but Jimmy had made up his mind that, whatever happened, Ruth should not suffer on his account. No sorrow or hint of shame must rest on her. Moreover, he had, in a sense, made Clay a promise; the dying man had trusted him.