’Twas vain to bandy more words with the fellow.  I called in Joe Punchard and one of my seamen, and bade them take him to the kitchen and tie him up.  He flushed and bit his lip when I gave this order, but he saw ’twas folly to resist.  When he had gone I told the others what I had been thinking, and suggested that we should search the room.  A bureau stood against the wall; this was the only article of furniture in which money could be secured, and Mr. McTavish, who used it constantly, assured me that there was but a small sum in one of its drawers, which he had himself placed there.

We looked around in perplexity.  The walls were of wood, not of lath and plaster, so that there were no nooks and crannies in which he could have bestowed his hoard.  The floor also was of single planking, forming the roof of the room below.  There seemed no possible place of concealment here.  Could there be any spot on the veranda that might have served his purpose?

I went out; the veranda was empty, the men who had been injured (and some who were dead) having been removed.  If my reasoning was correct, the hiding place must be on the inner side, otherwise the assailants could have obtained what they came to seek without attacking the room.  We looked carefully along the base of the wall where it met the floor of the veranda at first in vain.

But just as I was almost prepared to give up the search and try elsewhere I noticed that at one spot the nails of the flooring seemed newer than at other parts.  Calling to Cludde, with his assistance I prized up one of the boards, and the secret was instantly revealed.  The board rested on one of the broad wooden pillars supporting the veranda.  A hole had been cut down the center of the pillar, and there lay the missing money—­doubloons and silver dollars.

Leaving McTavish to gather them up and count them, Cludde and I went down to the kitchen.  Vetch was tied to a chair (as Joe had been tied months before), and Joe was sitting over against him, with a cutlass on his knees.  I told Vetch briefly that the money was found.

Even now his bravado did not desert him.  He repeated we had no right to call in question any action of his and that none but Sir Richard could claim an account of his stewardship.  I did not reply, as I might have done, that the money, being found in the house after Mistress Lucy had come of age, was patently hers, and in attempting to recover it he was no better than a common housebreaker.  I bade Punchard collect our men in readiness to march back to the brig, and strictly charged him that he should have every care of Vetch on the way.

Then I saw a shadow of fear cross the villain’s face.  He knew that to brazen it out longer would avail him nothing, and ’twas his inward vision of the hangman, I doubt not, that caused him to go white to the lips.

Cludde went from the room to gather his few possessions in preparation for our despatch.  Vetch struggled with himself for a moment, then said huskily: