"_Messieurs_," she said--"_Senh.o.r.es_--I must truly apologize to r'ceive you so. My friend' have exceed' their instruction. I would not that they should treat you with such rudeness. I would not have you sink us _criminel_. Believe me--no!"

But, though she protested warmly, I could not observe any offer to release us.

"And English too!" Her soft drawl was a caress. "See how _bete_ is that Pedro--to sink he could make you tell anysing to a r-robber in the street! Of course you would not tell! But me--I shall ex-plain so clear and so simple; and then you shall understand. Attend me, please:

"There is a great treasure on the sh.o.r.e of these island. A gr-reat treasure wrecked with a ship long taime bifore. Always, always it is known--only where? Thad n.o.body can know! By Machico, they say--yes. But z' waters by Machico are deep and cruel, and thad ship has went all to li'l' piece' hundreds years ago; and only the gold--the heavy, heavy doubloon gold--r'main down there; and to find it is not possible. So at last thad story is nearly forgot! You see?...

"But listen now: Only three mon's ago a poor fisher boy finds a one coin on the rocks. Somewhere--somewhere he finds it, and quick the news shoots to Portugal, to Spain. My friends and me, we heard thad news. We are very much excite'; for w'ere thad coin is--you comprehend--there z'rest must also be! So we make a company among us; and me, bicause--oh, bicause I am not quite unknown in several co'ntries and I have some little hinfluence, it may be--I am bicome the Madame Presidente--ze Number One. Yes.

"We hurry to Madeira. And what do you sink? Thad boy--thad poor fisher boy--he don't know w'ere he find that coin! True, I tell you! We take him here; we take him there--no good! He never can rimember w'ere he found it. He is so stupid--a li'l' fool in the head, that poor Joo, who now makes drinks in the Casino. _Pobrecito! Pauvre gars!_ And so our treasure is lost again....

"Until you come along--you big zaintleman there. You are a stranger, a foreign'--knowing nothing of all this. You take yourself for a walk by the beach and, very first thing--what? You pick up another one coin of this treasure! Ah, thad is so remarkable! Thad is a wonderful, truly!

But what can we do? We must know w'ere you pick it up--that is es-sential to us. And n.o.body knows but you. So now you understand why my friends should make you all this trouble."

The red dot of a cigarette glowed to life between her lips, and by that tormented spark we glimpsed a face that seemed to advance out of the darkness and to retreat again as swiftly--the merest vision of an exquisite and roseate loveliness.

She waited for an answer; but Robert Matcham made none.

"Perhaps," she said, with the gentlest concern, "perhaps I do not make myself yet quite clear. You will r'mark thad we are going to know!

Somehow or another we are going to know. Thees is a too ancient claim of ours--writ' on ancient parchmen'--and n.o.body can kip us from it now, when we are so close. _Voila!_"

The stillness weighed again and I saw Robert Matcham's great chest heave and fall.

"I, too, have a claim," he said, his full, deep tone rolling under the roof like an organ pipe.

She drew herself up to stare toward him.

"How?" she breathed.

And it was given Robert Matcham then to have his say out.

"Either that or nothing!" he declared quite simply. "Either I have a claim or there's no sense to life. Lady--look at me! Do you see a fool, a weakling or an imbecile? None of these, I think....

"When a man has been knocked blind and silly by his luck; when he's been hammered out of all hope and pride in himself--what can he do, lady?

Well, there's one of two things for him: he can lie down and curl up like a worm, and confess he's only a lump of flesh, with no more control over his destiny than a bit of flotsam on the sea. He can do that--or else he can sink teeth and claw on the first hold and make it have a meaning; stick to it, and die sticking!

"I've had enough. I call enough! I'm half a world out of my place. I've lost everything I ever wanted; stood every mock and failure--a plaything for events. And now there's got to be a meaning: I'm going to put a meaning to it. If there's a treasure, as you say, it's mine; it must be mine; it's got to be mine--and it's going to be mine or n.o.body's!... And all h.e.l.l can't make me speak!"

The fellow seemed to swell beside me; I heard the ropes creak about his limbs; and heard, too, the sharp-drawn gasp of the woman in the shadow.

"No! And how do you think you can privent?"

"Well," said Robert Matcham--and his voice rang with high exultation at last--"I can begin this way!"

His bonds snapped from him like thread; his fist went to his breast and came away armed with glitter--Joo's revolver, which he had hidden there. It spat saffron, twice and thrice, toward the door. He followed on and met a rush of opposing figures. I saw the fat croupier fall. I myself was bowled over, deafened by the bursting clamor, trampled, kicked in the head. Half-stunned, I writhed round to watch the struggle, adding my feeble pipe to the din.

"Go on, Robert Matcham!" I yelled. "Go on! Smash through! Oh, smash 'em."

They swarmed upon him, reaching for their deadly holds. Three had him about the waist; another clung to his feet; still others barred his path. So I saw him for the click of a shutter; and then, roaring with battle, he broke away, stripped them off like rats, waded on--plucked up the last one bodily and used him like a flail.

He was free! Free long enough to tear the door open and step back for a dash--and there she met him....

A bright bar of light cut in from the outer court and shone full upon her--a splendor of beauty to stop a man's heart in his breast. She was dark, like some tinted pearls--dark as he was fair--and ripe as her own lips. Her eyes, heavy-lidded, were slightly lifted to him with an amorous languidness. She did not flinch, save for a tiny quiver of nostril, thin and clear like a roseleaf, and the rise of her bosom, and when her little hand crept up to her throat.

So she stayed, and so he stayed, while the uproar died and fell away into the void--long and long; while time lost all count; while these two exchanged such a message as five centuries could not change, but no man can guess or words declare. And then--

"Robert," she said, "this is your treasure!"

"Anna!" said Robert Matcham. "Anna!"

I heard them--I, myself; I heard them....

It was the spade-bearded banker who brought me to.

"So," he nodded, with an amazing grin, "you are not a daid? Tha's nize!

Now there are not any daids at all, and everybody being much pleased."

I blinked up at him from the divan on which I lay, and then round the room, gray and bare in the dawn, which had stolen in by opened door and cas.e.m.e.nt. The banker sat down at a little table near by and beamed at me. I noticed that he carried one arm in a sling, but otherwise he was still the model rogue, jimp and smiling. There was no one else in sight.

"They are all down 'elping to fish up that box of gol'pieces," he explained. "You didn' know that, eh?"

"Where?"

"Below the beach. Your frien' showed the place; and, sure enough, there we dived and foun' it. But him--Oh, _la la_!" He chuckled. "Him and her, what do they care? They 'ave gone off together by their lones to see the sunrise--those dears!"

"Who was she?" I cried, starting up dizzily.

"What? You not know that divine _ballerina_, that dancer so sublime, that singer so sweet?" He kissed his finger tips. "Anna Darfetho, of Lisbon, and Paris, and Madrid! Only now--good-by! It is finish'! She are going with him to Australia. Imagine! And what for, do you think? To spend their share--'Oly Virgin!--in raising little woolly sheeps together!"

"Share?"

"Oh, we all share--that is agree'. Only me--you understand, I am--'ow you say?--the tiger for eat the mos'. Yes, I get the mos', because truly it should belong all mine.... Be'old--for this our fazers used to cut the throat!"

He took up from the table one of several blackish, common-looking lumps, like slag, and weighed it; and smiled his smile of the gentlemanly brigand who gloats upon the fortune won. And as I stared at that superior knave the whole stupendous marvel closed up with a final click.

Pilot? Pilot? I remembered the quaint phrase of the chronicle: "Great fighting pilot of Spain"--pilot? Pirate, rather. Pirate, of course!...

"Then you must be Pedro Morales?" I gasped.

"Ah, you know my name?" he twinkled pleasantly. "What a coincident!"

But I had had enough--enough of coincidence, of romance and adventure and authentic thrill to last me for some time, and rather more than I had bargained for with my ten pounds. I groped my way out into the open and the brisk morning breeze; and there, looking down to seaward through an alley in the cane, I saw the new sun come up, as round and broad and ruddy as--as a Portuguese doubloon.

THE PRACTICING OF CHRISTOPHER