In short, Captain Perez began noiselessly and methodically to empty the box of its bags of gold and piles of silver, taking care to stow the treasure away in a chest, to which he alone had access. He then filled the box with whatever was at hand, bits of rusty iron, lead, stones, shells, old junk, hay, &c., substituting as nearly as possible pound for pound in weight if not in value, conscientiously adding some bones which were far removed from canonisation, and at last carefully screwing down the lid, the right reverend father Antonio himself, had he been on board, could not have discovered that the coffin had been touched by mortal hand.
In about a month the vessel arrived at the port of Cadiz. The quarantine for some unexplained reason was much shorter than usual, and had hardly expired, when a venerable Jesuit was the first person who stood before the captain, a few minutes only after he had taken possession of his lodgings on shore.
"I would speak with Captain Perez," said the Jesuit, gravely.
"I am he," the captain replied, somewhat disconcerted at the abruptness of the inquiry. Quickly recovering his presence of mind, however, he added, with perfect calmness, "You have probably come, holy father, to take charge of the precious remains intrusted to my care by Father Antonio, of Cuba?" The Jesuit bowed his head, in token of assent.
"And I have the honor of addressing Father Hieronimo?"
"You have," was the reply.
"You are no doubt the bearer of a letter for me, from Father Antonio?"
"Here it is," said Father Hieronimo, handing Captain Perez a letter.
"I beg a thousand pardons, holy father," the captain said, with much humility, "but I hope you will not take offence at these necessary precautions?"
"On the contrary they speak in your favor."