“That’s the name the Floridian fishermen give to the family who live on Caesar’s Estuary,” she explained, almost impatiently.  “The inlet that runs up into the mangroves, south of Caesar’s Rock and Caesar’s Creek.  Caesar was an oldtime pirate, you know.  These people claim to be descended from him, and they claim squatter’s rights on a tract of marsh-and-mangrove land down there.  They call themselves all one family, but it is more like a clan, Black Caesar’s clan.  They have intermarried and others have joined them.  It’s a sort of community.  They’re really little better than conchs, though they fight any one who calls them conchs.”

“But what—?”

“Oh, Milo and Rodney Hade leased some land from the government, down there.  And that started the trouble.”

Brice whistled, softly.

“I see,” said he.  “I gather there had been rumors of treasure, among the Caesars—­there always are, along the coast, here—­and the Caesars hadn’t the wit to find the stuff.  They wouldn’t have.  But they guarded the place and always hoped to trip over the treasure some day.  Regarded it as their own, and all that.  ‘Proprietary rights’ theory, passed on from fathers to sons.  Then Standish and Hade leased the land, having gotten a better hint as to where the treasure was.  And that got the Caesars riled.  Then the Caesars get an inkling that Standish and Hade have actually located the treasure and are sneaking it to Standish’s house, bit by bit.  And then they go still-hunting for the despoilers and for their ancestral hoard.”

“Why!” cried Claire, astounded.  “That’s the very thing you stopped me from telling you!  If you knew, all the time—­”

“I didn’t,” denied Brice.  “What you said, just now, about the Caesars, gave me the clew.  The rest was simple enough to any one who knew of the treasure’s existence.  There’s one thing, though, that puzzles me—­a thing that’s none of my business, of course.  I can understand how Standish could have told you he and Hade had stumbled onto a hatful of treasure, down there, somewhere, among the bayous and mangrove-choked inlets.  And I can understand how the idea of treasure hunting must have stirred you.  But what I can’t understand is this:—­When Standish found the Caesars were gunning for him, why in blue blazes did he content himself with telling you of it?  Why didn’t he send you away, out of any possible danger?  Why didn’t he insist on your running into Miami, to the Royal Palm or some lesser hotel, till the rumpus was all over?  Even if he didn’t think the government knew anything about the deal, he knew the Caesars did.  And—­”

“He wanted me to go to Miami,” she said.  “He even wanted me to go North.  But I wouldn’t.  I was tremendously thrilled over it all.  It was as exciting as a melodrama.  And I insisted on staying in the thick of it.  I—­I still don’t see what concern it is of the United States Government,” she went on, rebelliously, “if two men find, on their own leased land, a cache of the plunder stolen more than a hundred years ago by the pirate, Caesar.  It is treasure trove.  And it seems to me they had a perfect right—­”