“We—we must stop ’em—they ain’t got no right ter do it,” he sputtered. “Horace Tarr was my nevvy, an’ I’m the guardeen o’ that boy. There hain’t nobody else got no right to go arter them di’monds.”
“Diamonds!” exclaimed Leroyd. “Is that the treasure?”
“Ye—es,” replied Arad hesitatingly, looking at Weeks. “I—I found a letter from this Wetherbee, the mate of the Silver Swan, an’ it says so. Horace’s brother Anson got ’em in South Afriky.”
“Good for you, old feller,” said Leroyd admiringly. “Ye did take my advice, didn’t ye?”
Old Arad rubbed his hands together as though washing them with imaginary soap, and grinned.
“Yes, diamonds is the treasure,” Weeks rejoined calmly. “Now, you’ll start right off to find the brig with Mr. Tarr here to back you with money, eh, Leroyd?”
“Never ye mind what I’ll do,” returned Jim, uglily. “I tell ye this hain’t none o’ your funeral, so you keep out of it, Sneaky.”
“Are you sure?” asked Weeks, with a tantalizing smile.
“Yes, I’m sure!” roared the enraged sailor.
“Well, don’t holler so loud,” the red haired one admonished him. “But I think you’re mistaken.”