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"What dye you want, boy?" Shipley's pipe was alight now and he peered down at Billy through the pungent smoke-wreaths. "What's this matter got to do with you?" said Mr Lawrence fiercely. Maurice nodded. "They said thieves at the store." Forgotten, for the moment, was old Scroggie's ghost and the buried treasure in this new something which promised mystery and adventure..

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"I know what I'll be gettin' from mine, all right," said Maurice, moodily. "Say, Bill," he coaxed, "you come along over by our place an' smooth things over fer me, will you? You kin do anythin' with Ma." "Oh, you have done well. Acton will value your foresight. A sick-bay is a valuable detail in a ship's catalogue." He endeavoured to recollect himself that, by calming his terrors his memory might better serve him. Urgent alarms often induce vain hopes which we should laugh at in the cool mood. He believed he might have put that letter down in his bedroom, and perfectly well knowing that he had not done so, and yet coaxed by a will-o'-the-wisp hope, he ransacked the room as though he knew that in it was to be found a gold piece of value whose discovery demanded a careful search only. What was certain in his mind was that that letter was in his pocket when he walked that morning to visit the Minorca. He remembered withdrawing it from his pocket, but in what part of the walk he knew not, and re-perusing a portion of it to refresh his memory. He tried to find comfort in the recollection that the letter bore no address and no signature. But a thundercloud of horror came down on this feeble streak of sunshine when he recalled the damning, incriminating contents of that sheet[Pg 152] which he had scrawled in pencil at "The Swan Inn." Whoever found it would know that Mr Lawrence, and Mr Lawrence alone, had written it, and this, too, irrespective of the handwriting. Billy, his arm about Sphinx's neck, spoke. "Come, ol' feller; come here," he said..