“And all for what?  For an imperfect chart—­and for these!” He thrust his hand close up to Glass’s face, and spread his fingers wide, letting the gems drip between them, and rain back into the treasure-chest.  “What’s wrong with them?  That’s what you’d be asking—­eh?—­if your poor tongue could find the words.  Well, only this, my friend—­yes, look well at them—­that I hid them myself, and every one of them is false.”

“False!” I could see Glass’s mouth at work, his lips forming to the echo of the word, as it struck across his terror like a whip.  But he achieved no articulate sound.

“I give you my word—­” resumed Dr. Beauregard; but a thud interrupted him.  Glass had fallen forward in a faint, striking his forehead against the edge of the chest, and lay face downward—­with the blood oozing from his temple and discolouring the sand.  As the Doctor paused and bent over him, another wave came rippling up the beach, throwing a long, thin curve of foam before it, and washed out the stain.

“Is—­is he dead?” I heard Plinny’s voice quavering.

“Not yet, ma’am,” answered the Doctor, grimly; and, taking the inanimate body by the collar, he drew it above reach of the waves, and turned it over.

“You are a doctor, sir?”

“Yes, ma’am, and have some small skill.”  He put up a hand to his breast-pocket, half withdrew it, and hesitated.  “You have baulked me of a pretty little scheme,” he said quietly.  And still while he addressed us he seemed to be considering.  “Think of this fellow’s face when he got his treasure across to the mainland and attempted to trade it!  To be sure, he gave us some fun for our pains—­”

“If you call it fun, sir,” protested Plinny.

“Well, yes, ma’am,” he answered quietly, kneeling and lifting Glass’s head, and resting it across his thigh.  “My humour may be of a primitive sort, but I confess it tickled by shocking a murderer into a fainting fit.”  He felt in his breast-pocket and drew forth a small phial.  “No, sir,”—­he turned to Captain Branscome, who had stepped forward to offer his help—­“let me alone, please.  I prefer to treat my patient in my own way.  It will be best, on the whole, for everybody.”

He forced Glass’s mouth wide open, and with one hand poured about half of the contents of the phial between the patient’s teeth, drop by drop, very patiently, with the other smoothing the gullet between finger and thumb.

We all stood watching while he administered the dose, Miss Belcher close beside me, with her hand on my shoulder.  At the twentieth drop or so I felt her give a start, as though a thought had suddenly occurred to her, and I looked up into her face.  Her eyes were fixed inquiringly on Dr. Beauregard, and he, happening also to look up, met them with a smile.

“You will see in a moment,” he said, as if answering her thought, and, reaching forward, he laid two fingers on Glass’s pulse.  “Yes, in a moment now.”