"It's a modest ambition," returned Jurgens. "I've got other plans for myself—but every man his own way. Lift the lid."
The heavy cover grated on its hinges as Bangs pushed it back. The chest appeared to be filled with brownish particles. With a disappointed oath, Jurgens scooped up a handful of the particles and held them close to his eyes.
"Sawdust!" he exclaimed; "mahogany sawdust!" and he cast the stuff from him fiercely.
"That's your treasure, is it?" sneered Bangs. "That's what we've been workin' for, and playin' tag with the law for, and gettin' into trouble for, is it? Pah!" Bangs got up disgustedly. "I was a fool ever to go into this thing. That Man from Cape Town has been playin' a joke. Sawdust! A box of sawdust!"
Carl chuckled, but the two men were so wrought up they did not hear him, or pay any attention to him. Carl felt sure that the dried frog was getting in its work. The spell of the hoodoo was over Jurgens, and Bangs, and the iron chest.
Of course, Carl was wide of his reckoning when he allowed his thoughts to take this course. But, then, he was superstitious.
Why Yamousa, a friend of Matt's, should want to load him up with hoodoo and tell him it would bring him luck, was a point Carl had already considered. He explained that point, to his own satisfaction at least, by imagining that the charm would bring luck to Matt alone, and bad luck to everybody else. Explanations are always easy when a fellow wants to prove anything!
"Wait a minute, Proctor," called Jurgens.
Bangs had started for the door with the evident intention of going away and washing his hands of the whole affair. At this call, however, he turned back.
"Well?" he queried.