almost—until Everson dropped in and patched the affair up and the next day his yacht left for Golden Key.”
“I wish I’d been here to go with them,” I considered. “How do you suppose I’ll be able to get out there, now?”
“You might be able to hire a tug,” shrugged Kenmore. “The only one I know is that of Captain Guiteras. He’s the father of this Dolores I told you about.”
The suggestion seemed good, and after a few moments more of conversation, absorbing what little Kenmore knew, we threaded our way across the city to the home of the redoubtable Guiteras and his pretty daughter.
Guiteras proved to be a man of about fifty, a sturdy, muscular fellow, his face bronzed by the tropical sun.
I had scarcely broached the purpose of my visit when his restless brown eyes seemed literally to flash. “No, sir,” he exclaimed, emphatically. “You cannot get me to go on any such expedition. Mr. Everson came here first and tried to hire my tug. I wouldn’t do it. No, sir—he had to get one from Havana. Why, the whole thing is unlucky—hoodooed, you call it. I will not touch it.”
“But,” I remonstrated, surprised at his unexpected vehemence, “I am not asking you to join the expedition. We are only going to—”
“No, no,” he interrupted. “I will not consider it. I—”
He cut short his remarks as a young woman, radiant in her Latin-American beauty, opened the door, hesitated at sight of us, then entered at a nod from him. We did not need to be told that this was the Dolores whom Kenmore’s rumor had credited with almost wrecking Everson’s expedition at the start. She was a striking type, her face, full of animation and fire, betraying more of passion than of intellect.
A keen glance of inquiry from her wonderful eyes at her father was followed by a momentary faraway look, and she remained silent, while Guiteras paused, as if considering something.
“They say,” he continued, slowly, his features drawn sharply, “that there was loot of Mexican churches on that ship—the jewels of Our Lady of the Rosary at Puebla…. That ship was cursed, I tell you!” he added, scowling darkly.
“No one was lost on it, though,” I ventured at random.
“I suppose you never heard the story of the Antilles?” he inquired, turning swiftly toward me. Then, without stopping: “She had just sailed from San Juan before she was wrecked—on her way to New York from Vera Cruz with several hundred Mexican refugees. Treasure? Yes; perhaps millions, money that belonged to wealthy families in Mexico—and some that had the curse on it.
“You asked a moment ago if everybody wasn’t rescued. Well, everybody was rescued from the wreck except Captain Driggs. I don’t know what happened. No one knows. The fire had got into the engine-room and the ship was sinking fast. Passengers saw him, pale, like a ghost, some said. Others say there was blood streaming from his head. When the last boat-load left they couldn’t find him. They had to put off without him. It was a miracle that no one else was lost.”
“How did the fire start?” inquired Kennedy, much interested.
“No one knows that, either,” answered Guiteras, shaking his head slowly. “I think it must have been smoldering in the hold for hours before it was discovered. Then the pumps either didn’t work properly or it had gained too great headway for them. I’ve heard many people talk of it and of the treasure. No, sir, you wouldn’t get me to touch it. Maybe you’ll call it superstition. But I won’t have anything to do with it. I wouldn’t go with Mr. Everson and I won’t go with you. Perhaps you don’t understand, but I can’t help it.”
Dolores had stood beside her father while he was speaking, but had said nothing, though all the time she had been regarding us from beneath her long black eyelashes. Arguments with the old pilot had no effect, but I could not help feeling that somehow she was on our side, that whether she shared his fears and prejudices, her heart was really somewhere near the Key of Gold.
There seemed to be nothing for us to do but wait until some other way turned up to get out to the expedition, or perhaps Dolores succeeded in changing the captain’s mind. We bowed ourselves out, not a little puzzled by the enigma of the obdurate old man and his pretty daughter. Try as I might among the busy shipping of the port, I could find no one else willing at any reasonable price to change his plans to accommodate us.
It was early the next morning that a young lady, very much perturbed, called on us at our hotel, scarcely waiting even the introduction of her plainly engraved card bearing the name, Miss Norma Sanford.
“Perhaps you know of my sister, Asta Sanford, Mrs. Orrin Everson,” she began, speaking very rapidly as if under stress. “We’re down here on Asta’s honeymoon in Orrin’s yacht, the Belle Aventure.” Craig and I exchanged glances, but she did not give us a chance to interrupt.
“It all seems so sudden, so terrible,” she cried, in a burst of wild, incoherent feeling. “Yesterday Bertram Traynor died, and we’ve put back to San Juan with his body. I’m so worried for Orrin and my sister. I heard you were here, Professor Kennedy, and I couldn’t rest until I saw you.”
She was looking anxiously at Craig. I wondered whether she had heard of our visit to the Guiterases and what she knew about that other woman.
“I don’t quite understand,” interposed Kennedy, with an effort to calm her. “Why do you fear for your sister and Mr. Everson? Was there something—suspicious—about the death of Mr. Traynor?”
“Indeed I think there was,” she replied, quickly. “None of us has any idea how it happened. Let me tell you about our party. You see, there are three college chums, Orrin and two friends, Bertram Traynor and Donald Gage. They were all on a cruise down here last winter, the year after they graduated. It was in San Juan that Orrin first met Mr. Dominick, who was the purser on the Antilles—you know, that big steamer of the Gulf Line that was burned last year and went down with seven million dollars aboard?”
Kennedy nodded to the implied query, and she went on: “Mr. Dominick was among those saved, but Captain Driggs was lost with his ship. Mr. Dominick had been trying to interest some one here in seeking the treasure. They knew about where the Antilles went down, and the first thing he wanted to do was to locate the wreck exactly. After that was done of course Mr. Dominick knew about the location of the ship’s strong room and all that.”
“That, of course, was common knowledge to any one interested enough to find out, though,” suggested Kennedy.
“Of course,” she agreed. “Well, a few months later Orrin met Mr. Dominick again, in New York. In the mean time he had been talking the thing over with various people and had become acquainted with a man who had once been a diver for the Interocean Marine Insurance Company—Owen Kinsale. Anyhow, so the scheme grew. They incorporated a company, the Deep Sea Engineering Company, to search for the treasure. That is how Orrin started. They are using his yacht and Mr. Dominick is really in command, though Mr. Kinsale has the actual technical knowledge.”
She paused, but again her feelings seemed to get the better of her. “Oh,” she cried, “I’ve been afraid all along, lately. It’s dangerous work. And then, the stories that have been told of the ship and the treasure. It seems ill-fated. Professor Kennedy,” she appealed, “I wish you would come and see us. We’re not on the yacht just now. We came ashore as soon as we arrived back, and Asta and Orrin are at the Palace Hotel now. Perhaps Orrin can tell you more. If you can do nothing more than quiet my fears—”
Her
