extracted a packet of papers, yellow and old, bound with
heavy cording. Beneath this packet was a medal of the Legion of Honor,
some rose leaves, and a small glove.

"Know what I think?" said the admiral, stilling the shake in his voice.
"This belonged to that mysterious Frenchman who lived here eighty years
ago. I'll wager that medal cost some blood. By cracky, what a find!"

"And the poor little glove and the rose leaves!" murmured the girl, in
pity. "It seems like a crime to disturb them."

"We shan't, my child. Our midnight friend wasn't digging yonder for
faded keepsakes. These papers are the things." The admiral cut the
string, and opened one of the documents. "H'm! Written in French. So
is this," looking at another, "and this. Here, Laura, cast your eye
over these, and tell us why some one was hunting for them."

Fitzgerald eyed Breitmann thoughtfully. The whole countenance of the
man had changed. Indeed, it resembled another face he had seen
somewhere; and it grew in his mind, slowly but surely, as dawn grows,
that Breitmann was not wholly ignorant in this affair. He had not
known who had been working at night; but that dizziness of the moment
gone, the haste in opening the case, the eagerness of the search last
night; all these, to Fitzgerald's mind, pointed to one thing: Breitmann
knew.

"I shall watch him."

Laura read the documents to herself first. Here and there was a word
which confused her; but she gathered the full sense of the remarkable
story. Her eyes shone like winter stars.

"Father!" she cried, dropping the papers, and spreading out her arms.
"Father, it's the greatest thing in the world. A treasure!"

"What's that, Laura?" straining his ears.

"A treasure, hidden by the soldiers of Napoleon; put together, franc by
franc, in the hope of some day rescuing the emperor from St. Helena.
It is romance! A real treasure of two millions of francs!" clapping
her hands.

"Where?" It was Breitmann who spoke. His voice was not clear.

"Corsica!"

"Corsica!" The admiral laughed like a child. Right under his very
nose all these years, and he cruising all over the chart! "Laura,
dear, there's no reason in the world why we shouldn't take the yacht
and go and dig up this pretty sum."

"No reason in the world!" But the secretary did not pronounce these
words aloud.

"A telegram for you, sir," said the butler, handing the yellow envelope
to Fitzgerald.

"Will you pardon m