had found him.  The mate had a theory that, at the moment of the desertion of the ship, this fellow had started plundering, and that the captain, in an attempt to preserve discipline, had struck him down with a hatchet or some other heavy weapon.  It seemed more probable than any other explanation, and yet it did not entirely satisfy me either.  But the ocean is full of mysteries, and we were content to leave the fate of the dead seaman of the Brazilian brig to be added to that long list which every sailor can recall.

The heavy box was slung up by ropes on to the deck of the Mary Sinclair, and was carried by four seamen into the cabin, where, between the table and the after-lockers, there was just space for it to stand.  There it remained during supper, and after that meal the mates remained with me, and discussed over a glass of grog the event of the day.  Mr. Armstrong was a long, thin, vulture-like man, an excellent seaman, but famous for his nearness and cupidity.  Our treasure-trove had excited him greatly, and already he had begun with glistening eyes to reckon up how much it might be worth to each of us when the shares of the salvage came to be divided.

“If the paper said that they were unique, Mr. Barclay, then they may be worth anything that you like to name.  You wouldn’t believe the sums that the rich collectors give.  A thousand pounds is nothing to them.  We’ll have something to show for our voyage, or I am mistaken.”

“I don’t think that,” said I.  “As far as I can see, they are not very different from any other South American curios.”

“Well, sir, I’ve traded there for fourteen voyages, and I have never seen anything like that chest before.  That’s worth a pile of money, just as it stands.  But it’s so heavy that surely there must be something valuable inside it.  Don’t you think that we ought to open it and see?”

“If you break it open you will spoil it, as likely as not,” said the second mate.

Armstrong squatted down in front of it, with his head on one side, and his long, thin nose within a few inches of the lock.

“The wood is oak,” said he, “and it has shrunk a little with age.  If I had a chisel or a strong-bladed knife I could force the lock back without doing any damage at all.”

The mention of a strong-bladed knife made me think of the dead seaman upon the brig.

“I wonder if he could have been on the job when someone came to interfere with him,” said I.

“I don’t know about that, sir, but I am perfectly certain that I could open the box.  There’s a screwdriver here in the locker.  Just hold the lamp, Allardyce, and I’ll have it done in a brace of shakes.”

“Wait a bit,” said I, for already, with eyes which gleamed with curiosity and with avarice, he was stooping over the lid.  “I don’t see that there is any hurry over this matter.  You’ve read that card which warns us not to open it.  It may mean anything or it may mean nothing, but somehow I feel inclined to obey it.  After all, whatever is in it will keep, and if it is valuable it will be worth as much if it is opened in the owner’s offices as in the cabin of the Mary Sinclair.”