east of north was a red star, and written alongside was a single
word. But to the three it was an Odyssey--"Shell." In the lower left-hand
corner of the chart were the exact degrees and minutes of longitude and
latitude. With this chart a landlubber could have gone straight to the
atoll.

Next came the letter, which Cleigh did not read aloud--it was not
necessary. With what variant emotions the three pairs of eyes leaped from
word to word!

Friend Buccaneer: Of course I found the shell. That was the one issue
which offered no odds. The shell lay in its bed peculiarly under a
running ledge. The ordinary pearler would have discovered it only by
the greatest good luck. Atherton--my friend--discovered it, because
he was a sea naturalist, and was hunting for something altogether
different. Atherton was wealthy, and a coral reef was more to him
than a pearl. But he knew me and what such a game would mean. He was
in ill health and had to leave the South Pacific and fare north. This
atoll was his. It is now mine, pearls and all, legally mine. For a
trifling sum I could have chartered a schooner and sought the atoll.

But all my life I've hunted odds--big, tremendous odds--to crush down
and swarm over. The only interest I had in life. And so I planted the
crew and stole the _Wanderer_ because it presented whopping odds. I
selected a young and dare-devil crew to keep me on edge. From one day
to another I was always wondering when they would break over. I
refused to throw overboard the wines and liquors to make a good
measure.

And there was you. Would you sit tight under such an outrage, or
would your want of revenge ride you? Would you send the British
piling on top of me, or would you make it a private war? Suspense!
Dick Cunningham would not be hard to trace. Old Slue Foot. The
biggest odds I'd ever encountered. Nominally, I had about one chance
in a thousand of pulling through.

The presence of Mrs. Cleigh--of course she's Mrs. Cleigh by this
time!--added to the zest. To bring her through with nothing more than
a scare! Odds, odds! Cleigh, on my word, the pearls would have been
of no value without the game I built to go with them. Over the danger
route! Mad? Of course I'm mad!

Four-year-old shell, the pearls of the finest orient! The shell
alone--in buttons--would have recouped Eisenfeldt. He was ugly when
he saw that I had escaped him. Threatened to expose