at a rate that perhaps came
easily enough to Jim Lucky, who was a young giant of a seaman, but
was astonishing for a thin, windlestraw of a man such as Glass.
He ploughed his way across the sands like a demon, and had scarcely
set down the chest, a little above the water's edge, before he was
tugging at the boat. I heard him call to Lucky to help, and the pair
heave-y-hoe'd together as they strained at the gunwale to lift her
and run her down.

From this ridge, as yet, came no sign.

Presently from the boat--they had pulled her down to the water, and
were both stooping over her with their shoulders well inside, busy in
arranging her bottom board--I heard a fearful oath; an oath that rose
in a scream, as the two men faced each other, scared, incredulous.

"_Scuttled, by God!_"

It was Glass who screamed it out, and with the sound of it a host of
sea-birds rose from the neighbouring rocks, whitening the sky.
But Jim Lucky cast up both hands and ran.

"Stop, you fool! Stop!"

I think the poor creature had no notion whither he ran; that he was
merely demented. But, in fact, he headed straight for the ridge,
not turning his head. Twice Glass called after him; then, in a
sudden fury, whipped out a pistol and fired. For the moment I
supposed that he had missed, for the man ran for another six strides
without seeming to falter, then his knees weakened, and he pitched
forward on his face.

I believe, on my word, that Glass had either fired in blind passion
or with intent to stop the man rather than to kill him. He stood and
stared; and, while the pistol yet smoked in his hand, I saw Dr.
Beauregard step forth from his shelter, step delicately past the
corpse, and raise his musket; and heard his clear, resonant voice
call out--

"Both hands up, Mr. Glass, if you please!"

CHAPTER XXXII.

WE COME TO DR. BEAUREGARD'S HOUSE.

Glass's arm fell limp by his side, as though Dr. Beauregard had
actually pulled the trigger and winged him. He turned half-about as
the pistol slid from his fingers. He gave no cry; only there leached
us a loose, throttling sound such as a steam whistle makes before
fetching its note. It came to us in the lull between two waves that
broke and raised up the sands to ripple round his feet.

"_Both_ hands up, Mr. Glass!"

Dr. Beauregard advanced a step.

But instead of lifting his arms, the man curved them before him, and
held them so, as if to protect his treasure, while he san