ot what was standing in his name, you know--and the other--the estate
lot--that was standing in mine--some fifty thousand pounds in all, Mr.
Vickers. I had it all in gold, packed in sealed chests--and they--those
on board there--thought I took them chests aboard the _Pike_ with me. I
did take chests, d'ye see--but they'd lead in 'em. The real stuff is
hidden--buried--never mind where. And I know what they've come back
for!--they've opened the chests I took on board, and they've found
there's naught but lead. And they want me--me!--me! They'll torture me to
make me tell where the real chests, the money is--torture me! Oh, for
God's sake, keep 'em away from me--help me to hide--help me to get
away--and I'll tell Miss Greyle then where the money's hid, and--oh,
Lord, they're coming! Mr. Vickers--Mr. Vickers--"

He cast himself bodily at Vickers, as if to clutch him, but Vickers
stepped agilely aside, and Chatfield fell on the sand, where he lay
groaning while the others looked from him to each other.

"Ah!" said Vickers at last. "So that's it, is it, Chatfield? Trying to
cheat everybody all round, eh? I suppose you'd have told Miss Greyle
later that these people had collared all that gold--and then you'd have
helped yourself to it? And now I know what you were doing on that yacht
when we boarded it--you were one of the gang, and you meant to hook it
with them--"

"I didn't--I didn't!" screamed Chatfield, beating the sand with his hands
and feet. "I meant to slip away from 'em at a Scotch port we was to call
at, and then--"

"Then you'd have gone back to the hidden chests and helped
yourself," sneered Vickers. "Chatfield, you're a wicked old
scoundrel, and an unmitigated liar! Give me that paper that Miss
Greyle signed, this instant!"

"No!" interjected Audrey. "Let him keep it. He'll have trouble enough
presently. It's very evident they mean to have him."

Chatfield heard the last few words and looked round at the edge of the
surf. The boat had grounded on the shingle, and half a dozen men had
leapt from it and were coming rapidly up the beach.

"Armed, by George!" exclaimed Copplestone. "No chance for you,
Chatfield!"

The agent suddenly sprang to his feet with a howl of terror. He gave one
more glance at the men and then he ran, clumsily, but with a speed made
desperate by terror. He made straight for the rocks--and at that, two of
the men, at a word from their leader, raised their rifles and fired. And
with a