"I knew it," said Perez, going to work more boldly upon the second screw, "I knew there was nothing sinful in opening the coffin, for the sin lies in the intention."
All the screws were soon drawn out, and to gratify his curiosity it only remained to raise the coffin lid, and here his heart beat violently—but courage—Perez did raise the lid, and, and, he saw—no saint, but hay—the hay is carefully removed—then strips of linen—they are removed—then hay again, but no saint, nothing like the bone of a saint—but a wooden box.
"Well, that is odd," thought Perez, "and what can there be in it? I must open the box, but how? there is no key, what is to be done? Shall I force the lock, or break the cover of the box? Either attempt would make a noise, which the passengers or sailors might hear, but what is to be done? Good Saint Escarpacio, take pity on me, and direct me how to open the box," whispered Perez, and there was perhaps a little irony in the supplication.
In feeling among the hay surrounding the box, Perez found a key at one of its corners secured by a small iron chain.
"Ah! ha! I have it at last" Perez cried, "the key, the key," and quickly putting it into the key-hole, he opened the Box—and he saw—what? Leathern bags filled to the top according to the beautifully written tickets, with gold pistoles—silver crowns, closely ranged in shining piles—all in the most perfect order. "But what is this? a letter? I must read it," exclaimed the excited Perez—"by your leave, gentle wax," and he tears the letter open. It began thus:
"Father Antonio, of Cuba, to the reverend fathers in Cadiz, greeting.
"As agreed between us, Most Reverend Fathers, I send you three hundred thousand livres, in the name, and under the semblance of Father Escarpacio, whose bones I am supposed to be sending to Spain. The annexed memorandum of accounts will show that this sum comprises the whole of our little gleanings and savings up to this time, for the benefit of our Holy Order. You will pardon I am sure this innocent artifice on our part, Most Reverend Fathers, as it will prove a safeguard to the treasure, and avoid awakening the avarice and cupidity of the person to whom I am obliged to intrust it. (Signed) Antonio, of Cuba."
"Three hundred thousand livres! there are, then, three hundred thousand livres," exclaimed Perez in amazement, as he realized that this immense sum lay in real gold and silver coin before his eyes. "Oh, reverend, right reverend and worthy fellows of the crafty Ignatius! you are indeed cunning foxes! a hundred to one your trick was not discovered, for who but a Jesuit could have imagined it, and who could have guessed that the coffin contained money? And so these bags of gold are your holy remains, and I too, old sea shark as I am, to be humbugged like a land lubber, with your procession and your mummery—but I am deceived no longer, my eyes are opened; and by my patron saint, trick for trick my pious masters—bones you shall have, and burn me for a heretic, if you get any thing better than bones;" and he began to untie and examine the contents of the money-bags. "Let me consider" said he, "I want some bones, and where the devil shall I find them?"
He was on his knees, his body bent over the box, with his hands in the open gold-bags. His agitated countenance expressed with energy the mingled emotions, of desire to keep the rich booty all to himself, and of fear that in some mysterious manner it might elude his grasp—but he must, he must have it.
"A lucky thought strikes me," said he; "what a fool I am to give myself any trouble about it. What says my bill of lading? 'Received from the Reverend Father Antonio, a coffin containing bones, said to be those of Saint Escarpacio.' A coffin containing bones, said to be those, &c.—very good, and have I seen the bones, said to be delivered to me, and said to be the saint's bones? certainly not, and the coffin might contain—any thing else—the said coffin containing—what you please—how should I know? said to be the bones of Saint Escarpacio," &c. &c.