ntinued Ben, "I'll take a spell till the doctor and the old
nigger come back."

Ay, the job was done, and the mat over the dead-eyes of the shrouds!

[Illustration: "NOW CAPTAIN BRAND KNEW WHAT WAS COMING."]

During this neat and seamanlike operation Paul Darcantel wandered away
on the tracks of the flying wolf till he came to the cleft in the
rock. There he picked up and lighted the torch and stalked on. Presently
he came to the stones before the low cavern, and pushed his way in with
the blazing torch before him. Had Paul Darcantel had nerves, they would
have shaken at what he saw; but having none to shake, he calmly fixed
his eyes upon the sight.

There lay the head of the ancient Ignacio, caught, as he tried to creep
out of the treasure-chamber, by the falling of the stone slab. It must
have been sudden, for the stump of a paper cigar was still seized in his
wrinkled lips, while the snakelike curls twined about his ears, and his
wary eye looked out with its usual suspicious intensity, and seemed to
throw out a spark of fire in the reflection of the torch. Rising from a
coil in a slimy bed of sand before the head was a venomous serpent, with
his graceful neck curved into the broad flat head, all like an ebony
cane, straight, motionless, and elegant to the curved top--fascinated by
that single living orb of the dead man.

The human intruder left this well-matched pair to their own venomous
devices, and winding his way on, he soon came to the open door to the
vaults. A powerful kick smashed in the door of the dungeon, and while
the rusty bolts were still ringing on the stone pavement, Paul Darcantel
entered the loathsome chamber.

He saw nothing at first save a few fragments of broken crockery and a
rusty metal pot--not even a rat. But flaring the torch down upon the
mouldy floor something sparkled in the light. This he snatched, and it
was the long-lost locket and chain which had last rested around the
baby-boy's neck.

When the doctor strode back to the esplanade of the chapel he found
Benjamin Brown and Banou taking a friendly sip out of the tin pot.

"Well, sir," said Ben, as he got on his pins and strapped on his
cutlass, "there he is, sir! and as neat a piece of cross-lashing as ever
I did. He looks as if he growed there, jist like a hawk-bill turtle
a-bilin' in the ship's coppers, only he can't paddle about.

"I did it marciful, too, sir, and tried to convarse with him, in case he
had any presents to m