“But to-morrow,” he thought a moment later, “I cannot. There are other matters which must be attended to. I must not forget my grandfather, my photograph, and the chicle concession.” He felt for the packet he had preserved so carefully. It was still safe.
“The bloody marauders did not succeed.” The old Don’s voice rose high pitched and shrill. “God confounded them. The man-of-war fired a shot that snapped their mainmast. They were captured. The treasure was restored.
“But my sire of many generations back fished for pearls no more. He took his box of pearls ashore. He did not return to Spain at once. Those were perilous times upon the sea. He would wait.
“He waited too long. Morgan came.” The Don was fairly shouting now. “Morgan, the most bloodthirsty and cruel monster that ever sailed the Spanish Main. He came with many ships and two thousand men.”
For a time after this he was silent. A first faint flush of light along the fringe of palms announced a new day.
“No,” said the aged man, speaking more to himself than to them, “Morgan did not get the beaten silver box of pearls. Had he gotten it, one must have known. He was a great braggart.
“When my sire heard of Morgan’s approach, he put the box under his arm and walked away into the jungle. He knew the jungle well. He could not have gotten lost in it. Yet he never returned. Somewhere—” He arose to fling his arms wide in a dramatic gesture, “somewhere in this jungle the box of beaten silver with the wealth of every Salazar within, lies hidden.”
He resumed his seat. Light came more and more. Exhausted, the ancient Don fell asleep. But Pant stared at the dawn. He was thinking of the time when he might return to the Maya cave, and what he might find there when that day came.
And then, of a sudden, his thoughts took a fresh turn. He smiled as he thought of the strange code he had improvised at the spur of the moment before leaving his grandfather’s office to plunge in the jungle, and the curious note he had left for Johnny Thompson. Had Johnny returned? Had he found the note? Had he been able to read it? What had kept Johnny so long? What was to happen? Were their paths that had run side by side so long to diverge at last?
Had he but known it, Johnny was at this moment planning a task which was to bring them close together, yet to keep them apart for many days to come. Such are the strange, wild chances of fate.