“Some were caught and hanged,” says she, “and I suppose some were killed fighting.  No one can tell.  It was all so long ago, you see.  They’re all gone.  But the islands are still here, aren’t they?”

“I don’t miss any,” says I.  “There’s the mound, too.  It’s big enough to hold forty truckloads.”

“Oh, there won’t be that much,” says she.  “A few chests, perhaps.  But think, Torchy, of digging up gold that has been lying there for a hundred years or more!”

“I don’t care how old it is,” says I, “if it’s the kind you can shove in at the receivin’ teller and get credit for.  What you plannin’ to blow your share against?”

“I hadn’t thought much about that,” says Vee.  “Only that I once saw the loveliest girdle made of old coins.”

Isn’t that the girl of it!

“You’re a wonder, Vee,” says I.  “Here you stand to have a bundle of easy money wished on you, and all you can think of is winnin’ a fancy belt.”

Vee giggles good-natured.

“Well, Mister Solomon, what would you do with yours?”

“Swap it for as many blocks of Corrugated preferred as my broker could collect,” says I.  “Then when we declared an extra dividend—­”

“Pooh!” says Vee.  “You and Auntie are just alike.”

“Wouldn’t it cheer Auntie up a lot to hear that?” says I.  “I expect she’s busy spendin’ her share, too.”

“I should say,” announces Vee, “that we had all better be planning how to get that treasure on board the yacht.  Captain Killam says we mustn’t go there by day, you know, because someone might follow us.  Then there’s the crew.  I wonder if they suspect anything?”

Come to find out, that was what we was all wonderin’.  Course, Rupert would be the first to develop a case of nerves.  He reports that he’s come across groups of ’em whisperin’ mysterious.  Which reminds Auntie that she’d noticed something of the kind, too.  Even Mr. Ellins admits that some of the men had acted sort of queer.  And right while we’re holdin’ our confab someone looks around and discovers that a sailor has drifted up sleuthy almost within earshot.

“Hey, you!” calls out Old Hickory.  “What are you doing there?”

“Just touching up the brasswork, sir,” says he.

“Do your touching up some other time,” orders Old Hickory.  “Forward with you!”

“Yes, sir,” says the party in the white jumper, and sneaks off.

“Listening!” says Rupert.  “That’s what he was doing.”

“Who knows what they may be plotting,” says Auntie, “or what sort of men they are?  Sailors are apt to be such desperate characters.  Why, we might all be murdered in our beds!”

“As likely as not,” says Rupert gloomy.