Martin knew. He had guessed it even before Billy spoke, even before the lantern brought clear sight. The thing he had tumbled over: the other things that bumped him; the reek of musk in the air. He knew it was the treasure.
None the less, he was astonished when he followed Little Billy's gesture with his gaze. They were in a corner of the dry cave, and the jutting rock which had spelled grief for Ichi formed a pocket or alcove. This little chamber, in which they now were, was nearly filled with kegs. They were stowed neatly, tier on tier, from floor to sloping roof. They were about the size of pickle kegs, and there were dozens of them. Ichi had evidently plumped headlong into the pile and sent several kegs (and himself) rolling, one of which had tripped Martin.
Martin's knowledge of ambergris was still very vague. He would not have been surprised at the sight of a couple of barrels and an iron-bound chest or two. But a regiment of kegs! Dozens of kegs! If they all contained ambergris, he thought, there must be tons of the smelly stuff.
"See it, Martin?" cried the volatile hunchback, all else forgotten in the excitement of the instant. "By Jove, the entire fifteen hundred pounds, or I'll eat this lantern! Phew—it hasn't lost any of its virtue."
"But all those kegs can't be filled with it," said Martin. "Fifteen hundred pounds—why, there must be fifty kegs there."
"Fifty-five," answered Little Billy, "counting the ones you knocked over. Not as much as it looks. There is hardly any weight to ambergris; it takes quite a lump to weigh even an ounce. Specific gravity is—is—oh, I forget."
"It is .09," came a muffled voice from underneath Martin.
Martin started, and lifted his weight from the prostrate form.
"That is of betterness," said Ichi, more clearly. "May I see, please?"
"The rat smells cheese," observed Little Billy. It seemed so. Ichi struggled into a sitting posture, and his little black eyes were bright and greedy as he feasted them upon the kegs. He even sucked in the burdened air greedily.