"It—it—looks like the sapphire chest," he gasped. "Oh, Nat!"
The others merely looked their astonishment. In a few rapid words Nat supplied that part of the narrative of their escape dealing with the recovery of the chest, and which he had up to that moment purposely omitted.
"And now, boys," he concluded, "let's get a line over and hoist her on board. I, for one, am dying to feast my eyes on the sapphires once more and gloat over the way we've fooled those scoundrels of Morello's."
Sam Hinckley slipped over the side and soon made fast a turn around the box. How many pairs of willing hands hauled that box on board I leave you to imagine.
At last, dripping with water, there it stood on the bridge. They gathered about it half awesomely. There was something in its eventful history that gave pause to their somewhat noisy merriment. Silently they stood about, gazing with burning eyes while Nat fitted the key which he still carried. The lock was a simple one of old-fashioned make, and opened easily.
The young Motor Ranger swung back the lid with a gesture.
There, spread out over its precious contents was the same bit of canvas that they had placed there before the treasure chest had been filched. Nat's pulses beat a bit faster as he raised one corner of the canvas and prepared to disclose once more to their view the wonderful contents that lay beneath.
He raised it with a sweeping gesture and an exclamation of triumph which changed midway to a shout of dismay.
The box contained no precious sapphire hoard!
In place of the gem-bearing rocks, which they had expected to meet their gaze, the group on the bridge stared into a box filled with old bits of iron ballast, ropes ends, damaged blocks, and other bits of marine odds and ends.