Returning forward he reached the second hatchway that had attracted Rosey’s attention, and noiselessly unclosed its fastenings.  A penetrating smell of bilge arose from the opening.  Drawing a small bull’s-eye lantern from his breast he lit it, and unhesitatingly let himself down to the further depth.  The moving flash of his light revealed the recesses of the upper hold, the abyss of the well amidships, and glanced from the shining backs of moving zigzags of rats that seemed to outline the shadowy beams and transoms.  Disregarding those curious spectators of his movements, he turned his attention eagerly to the inner casings of the hold, that seemed in one spot to have been strengthened by fresh timbers.  Attacking this stealthily with the aid of some tools hidden in his oil-skin clothing, in the light of the lantern he bore a fanciful resemblance to the predatory animals around him.  The low continuous sound of rasping and gnawing of timber which followed heightened the resemblance.  At the end of a few minutes he had succeeded in removing enough of the outer planking to show that the entire filling of the casing between the stanchions was composed of small boxes.  Dragging out one of them with feverish eagerness to the light, the Lascar forced it open.  In the rays of the bull’s-eye, a wedged mass of discolored coins showed with a lurid glow.  The story of the Pontiac was true—­the treasure was there!

But Mr. Sleight had overlooked the logical effect of this discovery on the natural villainy of his tool.  In the very moment of his triumphant execution of his patron’s suggestions the idea of keeping the treasure to himself flashed upon his mind. He had discovered it—­why should he give it up to anybody? He had run all the risks; if he were detected at that moment, who would believe that his purpose there at midnight was only to satisfy some one else that the treasure was still intact?  No.  The circumstances were propitious; he would get the treasure out of the ship at once, drop it over her side, hastily conceal it in the nearest lot adjacent, and take it away at his convenience.  Who would be the wiser for it?

But it was necessary to reconnoiter first.  He knew that the loft overhead was empty.  He knew that it communicated with the alley, for he had tried the door that morning.  He would convey the treasure there and drop it into the alley.  The boxes were heavy.  Each one would require a separate journey to the ship’s side, but he would at least secure something if he were interrupted, He stripped the casing, and gathered the boxes together in a pile.

Ah, yes, it was funny too that he—­the Lascar hound—­the d——­d nigger—­should get what bigger and bullier men than he had died for!  The mate’s blood was on those boxes, if the salt water had not washed it out.  It was a hell of a fight when they dragged the captain—­Oh, what was that?  Was it the splash of a rat in the bilge, or what?