“Ah, but I will pay you a princely sum for one month’s use of the machine. I am a rich man and can afford to. Besides the sum of fifty thousand dollars, I will put a pirate’s treasure into your hands which is worth millions of dollars.”
“Your offer is extraordinary, Mr. Zamora.”
“But it is actuated by a most potent cause.”
“So I imagined. But explain your reason.”
“I shall. On the coast of Mexico there is a pirates’ retreat. It is ruled by an American outlaw called Captain Diavolo. His gang numbers several hundred men—the scum of all nations. He owns a fleet of swift ships that prey upon passing vessels. In these attacks he is always successful—all hands are killed, and the captured vessels are plundered and scuttled. Many a ship that never came back, but mysteriously disappeared, merely fell a victim to the Terror of the Coast, as we call this fiend.”
“I have never heard of him,” said Frank.
“No; for never has one of his victims escaped to tell of his crimes.”
“What has all this to do with you?”
“I am coming to that part presently. The Mexican Government did everything possible to get rid of him, but all its efforts proved to be of no avail. He successfully eluded them all. Perhaps his most relentless enemy was myself. I did all I could to break up his infernal crew, and aroused his wrath. He swore to avenge himself upon me; to carry out his vengeance, he one night invaded Santa Cruz with every man he could muster, and shot every one on sight. Having driven out the inhabitants, he plundered and set fire to many of the dwellings. My little five-year-old son, Leon, was carried away into captivity by the wretches, with myself, and Captain Diavolo told me that he was going to torture me to death. As for my child, they swore to educate him to become one of the foulest ruffians on earth, so that if he were finally captured, he would meet a violent doom.”
“Horrible!” muttered Frank, with a shudder.