Suddenly I remembered the packet and the letter.  I put my hand into my pocket and drew them out.  The packet was a tin box, strapped around with a leathern band:  on the top, between the band and the box, was a curious piece of yellow metal that looked like the half of a waist-buckle, having a socket but without any corresponding hook.  On the metal were traced some characters which I could not read.  The tin box was heavy and plain, and the strap soaking with salt water.

I turned to the letter; it was all but a pulp, and in its present state illegible.  Carefully smoothing it out, I slipped it inside the strap and turned to hide my prize; for such was my fear of the man who called himself Apollyon, that I could know no peace of mind whilst it remained about me.  How should I hide it?  After some thought, I remembered that a stone or two in the now empty cow-house had fallen loose.  With a hasty glance over my shoulder, I crept around and into the shed.  The stones came away easily in my hand.  With another hurried look, I slipped the packet into the opening, stole out of the shed, and entered the house by the back door.

My mother had been up for some time—­it was now about nine o’clock—­ and had prepared our breakfast.  Her face was still pale, but some of its anxiety left it as I entered.  She was evidently waiting for me to speak.  Something in my looks, however, must have frightened her, for, as I said nothing, she began to question me.

“Well, Jasper, is there any news?”

“There was a ship wrecked on Dead Man’s Rock last night, but they’ve not found anything except—­”

“What was it called?”

“The Mary Jane—­that is—­I don’t quite know.”

Up to this time I had forgotten that mother would want to know about my doings that morning.  As an ordinary thing, of course I should have told her whatever I had seen or heard, but my terror of the Captain and the awful consequences of saying too much now flashed upon me with hideous force.  I had heard about the Mary Jane from the unhappy John.  What if I had already said too much?  I bent over my breakfast in confusion.

After a dreadful pause, during which I felt, though I could not see, the astonishment in my mother’s eyes, she said—­

“You don’t quite know?”

“No; I think it must have been the Mary Jane, but there was a strange sailor picked up.  Uncle Loveday found him, and he seemed to be a foreigner, and he said—­I mean—­I thought—­it was the name, but—­”

This was worse and worse.  Again at my wits’ end, I tried to go on with my breakfast.  After awhile I looked up, and saw my mother watching me with a look of mingled surprise and reproach.

“Was this sailor the only one saved?”

“No—­that is, I mean—­yes; they only found one.”

I had never lied to my mother before, and almost broke down with the effort.  Words seemed to choke me, and her saddening eyes filled me with torment.