Then the grotesque figure in the corner stirred.

"Well, mates," said the man, "believe or not believe, it's in the book,
and it stands to reason, too. We have gold mines here in Californy and
Nevada and all them States; and we hear of gold mines in Mexico and
Australia, too, but did you ever hear tell of gold mines in Europe? Tell
me that! And where did the gold come from then, before they discovered
America? Tell me that! Why they made it, just as the man that wrote
this-here says, and you can kiss the Book on that."

"How about that place, Ophir, I read about?" asked a voice from the
bunks.

The man shot a keen glance thither from beneath his brows.

"Know last year's output from the mines of Ophir, Thrackles?" he inquired
in silky tones.

"Why, no," stammered the man addressed as Thrackles.

"Well I do," pursued the man with the steel hook, "and it's just the
whole of nothing, and you can kiss the Book on that too! There ain't any
gold output, because there ain't any mines, and there never have been.
They made their gold."

He tossed aside a book he had been holding in his left hand. I recognised
the fat little paper duodecimo with amusement, and some wonder. The only
other copy I had ever laid my eyes on is in the Astor Library. It is
somewhat of a rarity, called _The Secret of Alchemy, or the Grand
Doctrine of Transmutation Fully Explained_, and was written by a Dr.
Edward Duvall,--a most extraordinary volume to have fallen into the hands
of seamen.

I stepped forward, greeting and being greeted. Besides the man I have
mentioned they were four. The cook was a bullet-headed squat negro with a
broken nose. I believe he had a name,--Robinson, or something of that
sort. He was to all of us, simply the Nigger. Unlike most of his race, he
was gloomy and taciturn.

Of the other two, a little white-faced, thin-chested youth named Pulz,
and a villainous-looking Mexican called Perdosa, I shall have more to say
later.

My arrival broke the talk on alchemy. It resumed its course in the
direction of our voyage. Each discovered that the others knew nothing;
and each blundered against the astounding fact of double wages.

"All I know is the pay's good; and that's enough," concluded Thrackles,
from a bunk.

"The pay's too good," growled Handy Solomon.

"This ain't no job to go look at the 'clipse of the moon, or the devil's
a preacher!"

"W'at you maik heem, den?" queried Perdosa.

"It's treasure, of course