"It must be that, if anything," replied Captain Hamilton, who had let his cigar go out and was now vigorously chewing the stub.
Drew said nothing, but his cheeks were flushed and his eyes brighter than usual.
Grimshaw fumbled with the lock for a moment, but found it immovable.
"Jest step out, Allen, and get all the keys we have an' we'll see if any of 'em fit," he directed.
Drew did so, and returned in a moment with the entire collection that the shop boasted. Tyke tried them all in turn, but none fitted.
"I guess there's no help for it," he said at last. "I hate to spoil the box, but we'll have to force the lock. Get a chisel, and we'll pry the thing open."
The chisel was brought and did its work promptly. There was a rasping, groaning sound, as if the box were complaining at this rude assault upon its privacy, then, with a hand that trembled a little, Tyke lifted the cover.
All three heads were close together as the men bent over and peered in. Their first glimpse brought a sense of disappointment. They had half expected to catch the sheen of gold or the glitter of jewels. Instead they saw only a piece of oilskin that was carefully wrapped about what proved to be some sheets of paper almost as stiff as parchment.
"Huh," grunted Tyke. "Pesky lot of trouble with mighty little result. I told you I thought Manuel was a bit touched in the brain, an' I guess I was right."
"Wait a minute," said Captain Hamilton. "Don't go off at half-cock. Let's see what's in that oil-skin."