“She can’t have. It’s not her writing. And look!” Florence studied the paper more closely. “There are two lines drawn under those words as if some other words had been crossed out and these inserted. And that—” she straightened up, “that is exactly what happened. There are faint traces of pencil marks all over the paper. The water has about washed them away. Perhaps when the paper is dry we can read the entire message.”
Placing the paper carefully on her outspread hand, she carried it to the deck, then smoothed it out on a board in the sun.
“Jeanne is not here,” Greta said quietly. “She’s not been here. Everything is just as we left it, except—” she hesitated.
“Except what?” Florence stared.
“I can’t be sure, but I think there are fresh marks of a black schooner that has been tied up alongside this wreck. Come and see.”
“Can’t be any doubt of it,” Florence agreed a few moments later. “The black schooner, it’s been here again, Greta! Greta!” She gripped the slender girl’s arm. “Do you suppose there could have been a barrel of gold hidden on this wreck? And have they carried it away?
“Of course not!” she exploded, answering her own question. “There are three or four barrels of oil in the hold. That was all they left. Swen told us that, and he should know.”
CHAPTER XXV
FATHER SUPERIOR TAKES A HAND
The paper taken from the Little Black Tramp, as Florence had named the derelict, proved a disappointment. Though there was still some suggestion of writing remaining on its surface after it was dry, not one word could be read. Only those four words, brighter than ever, stood out clear and strong, “A BARREL OF GOLD.”
Without the sprightly Jeanne about, the wreck seemed a lonely place. “What do you say we row back to the camping ground and dig for treasure?” Florence suggested after their midday siesta. “We can stay all night if the wind blows up.”