“But are you mad?  Sleight would not pay three times the value of the ship to-day if he were not positive!  And that positive knowledge was gained last night by the villain who broke into the Pontiac—­no doubt the Lascar.”

“Surely,” said Nott, meditatively.  “The Lascar!  There’s suthin’ in that.  That Lascar I fastened down in the hold last night unbeknownst to you, Mr. Renshaw, and let him out again this morning ekally unbeknownst.”

“And you let him carry his information to Sleight—­without a word!” said Renshaw, with a sickening sense of Nott’s utter fatuity.

“I sent him back with a message to the man he kem from,” said Nott, winking both his eyes at Renshaw significantly, and making signs behind his daughter’s back.

Rosey, conscious of her lover’s irritation, and more eager to soothe his impatience than from any faith in her suggestion, interfered.  “Why not examine the place where he was concealed? he may have left some traces of his search.”

The two men looked at each other.  “Seein’ ez I’ve turned the Pontiac over to Sleight jist as it stands, I don’t know ez it’s ’zactly on the square,” said Nott doubtfully.

“You’ve a right to know at least what you deliver to him,” interrupted Renshaw, brusquely.  “Bring a lantern.”

Followed by Rosey, Renshaw and Nott hurriedly sought the lower deck and the open hatch of the forehold.  The two men leaped down first with the lantern, and then assisted Rosey to descend.  Renshaw took a step forward and uttered a cry.

The rays of the lantern fell on the ship’s side.  The Lascar had, during his forced seclusion, put back the boxes of treasure and replaced the planking, yet not so carefully but that the quick eye of Renshaw had discovered it.  The next moment he had stripped away the planking again, and the hurriedly restored box which the Lascar had found fell to the deck, scattering part of its ringing contents.  Rosey turned pale; Renshaw’s eyes flashed fire; only Abner Nott remained quiet and impassive.

“Are you satisfied you have been duped?” said Renshaw, passionately.

To their surprise Mr. Nott stooped down, and picking up one of the coins handed it gravely to Renshaw.  “Would ye mind heftin’ that ’ere coin in your hand—­feelin’ it, bitin’ it, scrapin’ it with a knife, and kinder seem’ how it compares with other coins?”

“What do you mean?” said Renshaw.

“I mean that that yer coin—­that all the coins in this yer box, that all the coins in them other boxes—­and thar’s forty on ’em—­is all and every one of ’em counterfeits!”

The piece dropped unconsciously from Renshaw’s hand, and striking another that lay on the deck gave out a dull, suspicious ring.

“They waz counterfeits got up by them Dutch supercargo sharps for dealin’ with the Injins and cannibals and South Sea heathens ez bows down to wood and stone.  It satisfied them ez well ez them buttons ye puts in missionary boxes, I reckon, and, ’cepting ez freight, don’t cost nothin’.  I found ’em tucked in the ribs o’ the old Pontiac when I bought her, and I nailed ’em up in thar lest they should fall into dishonest hands.  It’s a lucky thing, Mr. Renshaw, that they comes into the honest fingers of a square man like Sleight—­ain’t it?”