"Yes, an old document that came into my hands a short time ago. Charlie, you remember old Wicks—old Billy Wicks—'Wrecker' Wicks, they called him—"
"I should say I do. A wonderful old villain—"
"One of the greatest characters that ever lived. Oh, and shrewd as the devil. Do you remember the story about his—"
"But the document, for heaven's sake," I said. "The document first; the story will keep."
"Well, they were pulling down Wicks's own house just lately, and out of the rafters there fell a roll of paper—now, I'm coming to it—a roll of paper, purporting to be the account of the burying of a certain treasure, telling the place where it is buried, and giving directions for finding it—"
Charlie and I exclaimed together; and John continued, with tantalising deliberation.
"It's in the safe, down at the office; you shall see it to-morrow. It's a statement purporting to be made by some fellow on his deathbed—some fellow dying out in Texas—a quondam pirate, anxious to make his peace at the end, and to give his friends the benefit of his knowledge."
"O John!" said I, "I sha'n't sleep a wink to-night."
"I don't take much stock in it," said John. "I'm inclined to think it's a hoax. Some one trying to fool the old fellow. If there'd been any treasure, I guess one could have trusted old 'Wrecker' Wicks to get after it.... But, boys, it's bed-time, anyhow. Come down to the office in the morning and we'll look it over."
So our meeting broke up for the time being, and taking my candle, I went upstairs, to dream of caves overflowing with gold pieces, and John Tinker, fierce and moustachioed, standing over me, a cutlass between his teeth, and a revolver in each hand.