He repaired at once to his own chamber, and sitting down at a table, on which a lamp burned, he opened a desk, took a huge pocket-book from his coat, and began to examine several documents which it contained.
“I must raise the wind by fair means or foul to satisfy my fellows, as well as to make another venture before I cry die. Unless that is as unsuccessful as the last, I shall soon redeem my fortunes.”
He sat for some time ruminating, now and then turning to his papers, and casting up accounts. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.
“How came I so long to forget the chest I got only off the wreck from which old Halliburt saved the little girl?” he muttered. “Though I took out not a few valuables, there were all sorts of things at the bottom of the chest, which, now I think of it, I never turned over. I will have a look at them this very night. Even a few gold pieces would be welcome, and it was evidently the treasure chest of some Indian nabob or other, his ill-gotten gains from the wretched natives he had fleeced and cheated.”
He went to a chest of drawers in which he found a key.
“This must be it,” he said, “by its foreign make.”
Taking the lamp he left the chamber, and descended the stairs. The sound of boisterous revelry proceeded from the room where his guests were assembled.
“The drunken brutes are not likely to disturb me,” he growled out, “and Dick is fast asleep in his loft.”
Going across the stable, on removing a heap of straw he found a low door, which opened with a key he produced from his pocket. Going through it, he closed it carefully behind him.
He now stood in a low vaulted cavern, the earth supported by upright pieces of stout timber, with flat boards above them, which prevented the sandy soil in which it was cut from falling in. This was the excavation which he, with a few trusty companions, had formed many years ago.