He straightened in his chair, and spoke more earnestly. "Killdare, you're not troubled with a too-active imagination?"

"I'll take a chance on it," I told him.

"I've seen a few men, in my time, that I wouldn't tell such a yarn to for love nor money--especially when they are doomed to stay around here for a few weeks. You won't believe it, but some men are so nervous, so naturally credulous, that they'd actually have some unpleasant dreams about it. But I consider it one of the finest attractions of the place.

"The yarn's very simple. About 1840, a schooner, sailing under the Portuguese flag, sailed from Rio de Janeiro. Her name was the _Arganil_, she had a mixed cargo, and she was bound for New Orleans. These are facts, Killdare. You can ascertain them any time from the marine records. But we can't go much further.

"Among the crew were two brothers, Jason by name. Legend says that they were Englishmen, but what Englishmen were doing on a Portuguese ship I can't tell you. The name, however, might easily be South-European--it appears, you remember, in Greek mythology. Now this point also has some indications of truth. There was certainly one Jason, at least, shipped as boatswain--the position of the other is considerably in doubt.

"Now we've got to get down to a matter of legend, yet with some substance of truth. The story goes that there was a treasure chest on the ship, the property of some immensely rich Brasilian, and that it contained certain treasures that had been the property of a Portuguese prince at the time that the court of Portugal was located in Rio de Janeiro. This was from 1808 to 1821--breaking up in a revolution just a hundred years ago. This is history, as you know. Just what was the nature of the treasure no one seems to have any idea. It was a rather small chest, so they say, bound with iron, and not particularly heavy--but it was guarded with armed men, day and night. Of course the prevailing belief is that it contained simply gold--the same, yellow, deadly stuff that built the Armada and made early American history.

It might have been in the form of cups and vessels, beautiful things that had been stolen from early heathen temples--again it might have been jewels. No estimation of its value was ever made, as far as I know--except that, like all unfound-treasures, it was 'incalculable.'

"You can believe as much of this as you like. Gold, however, is heavy stuff--no one can carry much over twenty thousand dollars worth. If the chest wasn't really very heavy, and really was of such incalculable value, it had to contain something more than gold.

"This part of the story is pretty convincing. I've investigated, and the legends contain such a wealth of detail concerning the appearance of the chest, how it was guarded, and so on, and the various accounts dovetail so perfectly one with another, that I am personally convinced that the treasure was a reality--at least that such a chest existed on the old ship. When you get into the contents of the chest, however, you find only a maze of conflicting rumors. To me they tend to make the story as a whole even more interesting--and I'll confess I'd love to know what was in that chest.

"Well, the _Arganil_ broke to pieces off the west coast of Florida, not more than twenty miles from here. That fact can not be doubted. There are accounts of the wreck on official record. And legend has it that through Heaven knows what wickedness and bloodshed and cunning, the two Jason brothers not only managed to get off in the stoutest of the ship's boats, but that they carried the treasure with them.

"If there were any other members of the crew in the boat with them they were unquestionably murdered. Nothing was ever heard of them again. The two brothers are said to have landed somewhere close to this lagoon.

"But naked treasure breeds murder! It is a strange thing, Killdare, but the naked, yellow metal, as well as glittering jewels, gets home to human wickedness as nothing else in the world can. If that chest had been full of valuable securities, even paper currency, it wouldn't have left such a red trail from Rio to Florida. Gold and jewels waken a fever of possession out of all proportion to their actual value. When they landed on the sh.o.r.e one of the Jasons neatly murdered the other and made off with the chest.

"The same old yarn--Cain and Abel, Romulus and Remus. Killdare, did you know that fratricide is shockingly common? There are three kinds of brothers, and the Jasons were simply one of the three kinds.

Sometimes you find brothers that love each other beyond belief, with a self-sacrificing devotion that is beautiful to see. Then you find the great ma.s.s of brothers--liking each other fairly well, loyal in a family sc.r.a.p, fair pals but much closer to other pals that aren't their brothers. Then you come to this third cla.s.s, a puzzle to psychologists the world over! Brothers that hate each other like poison snakes.

"Why is it, Killdare? Jealousy? A survival from the beast? These were the kind of brothers that go through life bitter and hating and at swords' points. And all too often they get to the killing stage."

"You find it in the beast-world, too," I commented. "Look at the case of the wolves and the dogs. They are blood-brothers, drop for drop--and they hate each other with a fervor that is simply blood-curdling."

"True enough. I remember hearing about it. Well, one of the Jasons--the one whose cunning conceived of the whole wickedness to start x.x.xX with--killed the other, disposed of his body, and then through some unknown series of events, concealed the treasure.

"He went away awhile, the old wives say--taking a small portion of the treasure with him. At this point the name of Jason is lost, irremediably, in the mist of the past. But it is true that some two years later a seafaring man, one who had worn earrings and who cursed wickedly as he talked, came back and bought a great colonial home where the treasure was supposed to have been concealed.

"This part of the story can not be doubted. The county books contain records of the sale, and it's written, plain as day, on the abstract.

The man gave his name as Hendrickson.

"Legend has it that this Hendrickson was no one but G.o.dfrey Jason, that he had sold and turned into cash a small part of the treasure, temporarily evaded his pursuers, and had bought the big manor house with the idea of living in luxury the rest of his life. Incidentally, he was accompanied by a Cuban wife.

"It seemed, however, that like most evil-doers, he got little good out of his treasure. He paid only a small amount down on the estate, and after a year or two let it go back to the original owners. He went away, but it doesn't seem likely he took the treasure with him. At least he died wretchedly in poverty some months later, and had spent no large amount of money in between. The report of his death can be found in the records of the city of Tampa, in this state.

"Now all this is unquestionably a mixture of truth and fact.

Unquestionably there is a vein of truth in it; and I don't see but that most of it is fairly credible. But the rest of the yarn is simply laughable.

"I tell it only because it goes with the rest--not that I believe one word of it myself. After you hear what it is you'll wonder I ever took the trouble to tell you that I disbelieved it. It's just the sort of thing imaginative old n.i.g.g.e.rs make up to tell their children. And of course--the n.i.g.g.e.rs on the place believe every word of it.

"They say that this Jason--or Hendrickson--put a guard over his treasure. He was a deep-sea fisherman at one time, when he wasn't a seaman, with considerable acquaintance with the various man-eating monsters of the deep. It is known that Hendrickson did some queer exploring and fishing along the rocky sh.o.r.es beyond the estate. What did the villainous old pirate do but catch some big octopus--or some other such terrible ocean creature--and transplanted him to the lagoon where he was said to have concealed the treasure.

"That's all there is to it. The beast is supposed to be there yet, growing bigger and fiercer and more terrible year by year. An octopus is supposed to live indefinitely, you know. Once in awhile, the story goes, it creeps up on the rocky sh.o.r.e of the lagoon and grabs off a colored man. When any one searches around for the chest he's apt to meet up with Mr. Monster! Sure proof of his existence, the n.i.g.g.e.rs say, is that Mas'r Somebody or other, the son of one of the subsequent owners of the estate, also mysteriously disappeared and has never been heard of since.

When the blacks lose one of their own number they seem to regard it as a mere matter of course--but when 'one of de white folks' is taken, it's another matter! And of course, even to this day, you can't get a colored man to go within two hundred yards of the lagoon at night, and they hate to approach it even in the daylight.

"The lagoon where the chest is supposed to be hidden is the one just outside my window, cut off from the sea by the natural rock wall you just saw. The big crags and rocks and crevices are supposed to conceal his ferociousness the sea-monster, growing bigger and hungrier and fiercer every day. The house that Jason--or Hendrickson--bought, neglected, and let return to the owners is the one you're sitting in, right now."

CHAPTER V

After Nealman and I had each smoked a cigarette, I thought of a little plan that might increase his guest's interest in the week's shoot and hunt. He had been right when he said that even incredible legends, believed by no one, still add flavor to the country manor. I didn't see why we shouldn't turn them into account.

"I've got an idea," I told him, "and it all depends whether or not you've already sent the invitations to your guests."

"No, I haven't--just haven't got around to it," he answered. "All I was going to do was to write to about nine or ten of my men friends. I don't suppose all of them can come."

"Good. I thought it might be interesting if we worked that legend into the invitation--just to add a little spice to the fishing and hunting.

It might serve to waken a little extra interest in your party. Of course--it includes poking fun at the ferocious Jason and his treasure."

"They'll have a lot more fun poked at them before we're done. As I told you--only the colored people take them seriously at all."

I took out my fountain pen, found a sc.r.a.p of paper, and drew something like this:

[Ill.u.s.tration: GRAND TREASURE HUNT You are hereby invited to rally round at KASTLE KRAGS Sept. 6-12; search for SPANISH GOLD on 50-50 basis.

The Treasure is guarded by AWFUL SEA-MONSTER

P.S. Bring rods and guns. Turkey, quail, deer, sea-fish. All that makes the sportsman's heart be glad.

R.S.V.P.]

As my only drawing experience consisted in portraying specimens, it had no artistic pretensions whatever.

He seemed pleased, adopted the plan in an instant, then began to write down the names of his guests so that I could prepare an invitation for each. Most of them, I observed, lived in great cities to the North, New York and Boston particularly, and one or two of the men were more or less nationally known. The first half dozen names came easy. Then he paused, frowning.

"I wish I knew what to do about this bird," he muttered, as much to himself as to me. "Killdare, I don't suppose you've ever heard of him--Major Kenneth Dell?"

I shook my head. "Not that I remember."

"Well, I haven't either--yet I suppose he's a good sportsman. In the last few weeks he's got close to my best friend, Bill Van Hope, and Bill asked me to ask him down for this shoot. Says he's a distinguished man, the best of fellows, and is simply wild to try Floridan game. Oh, I'll put him down. If Bill recommends him he must be the goods."

He completed the list in a moment, then his duties calling him elsewhere, he left me in the study to prepare the invitations. And the hour turned out fortunately for me, after all. Thinking that the room was empty, Edith Nealman came back to her desk.

All the gold in Jason's chest could not have bought a more lovely picture than she made, standing framed in the doorway. She was dressed in a spotless cotton middy-suit, and the red scarf at her throat brought out to perfection the light in her eyes and the high color in her cheeks. Then she came in and inspected the invitations.

There was no occasion for me to leave at once. We talked a while, on everything under the sun, and every minute something that was like delight kept growing within me. She'd been up against the world, this girl that chattered so gayly in the big, easy office-chair. She had known poverty, a veritable struggle for existence; yet they hadn't hardened her in the least. No one I had ever met had possessed a sweeter, truer outlook, an unfeigned friendliness and comradeship for every decent thing that lived. Maybe you'd call it a childish simplicity, but I didn't stop to consider what it was. I only knew that she was the prettiest and the sweetest girl I'd ever seen, and I was going to spend every moment possible in her presence.

Oh, but I loved to hear her laugh! I kept my brain busy thinking up things to say to her, that might waken that rippling sound of silver bells! I liked to see her eyes grow serious, and her lips half-pout as some delightful, fanciful thought played hide-and-seek in her mind. She had imagination, this niece of Grover Nealman. Perhaps, after all, it was the secret of her charm. I didn't doubt for a moment but that she read romantic novels by the score, but I, for one, wouldn't hold the fact against her.

We talked over the legend of Jason's chest; and I was a little surprised at her devoted interest in it. Evidently the savage tale had gone straight home to her imagination. Whether she put the least credence in it I couldn't tell.