anyone can get at it.

The treasure-chest of Don Ramirez! Unique and valuable articles!
Here was a chance of salvage after all. I had risen to my feet with the
paper in my hand when my Scotch mate appeared in the doorway.

"I'm thinking all isn't quite as it should be aboard of this ship,
sir," said he. He was a hard-faced man, and yet I could see that he had
been startled.

"What's the matter?"

"Murder's the matter, sir. There's a man here with his brains beaten
out."

"Killed in the storm?" said I.

"May be so, sir, but I'll be surprised if you think so after you have
seen him."

"Where is he, then?"

"This way, sir; here in the maindeck house."

There appeared to have been no accommodation below in the brig, for
there was the after-house for the captain, another by the main hatchway,
with the cook's galley attached to it, and a third in the forecastle for
the men. It was to this middle one that the mate led me. As you
entered, the galley, with its litter of tumbled pots and dishes, was
upon the right, and upon the left was a small room with two bunks for
the officers. Then beyond there was a place about 12ft. square, which
was littered with flags and spare canvas. All round the walls were a
number of packets done up in coarse cloth and carefully lashed to the
woodwork. At the other end was a great box, striped red and white,
though the red was so faded and the white so dirty that it was only
where the light fell directly upon it that one could see the colouring.
The box was, by subsequent measurement, 4ft. 3ins. in length, 3ft. 2ins.
in height, and 3ft. across--considerably larger than a seaman's chest.
But it was not to the box that my eyes or my thoughts were turned as I
entered the store-room. On the floor, lying across the litter of
bunting, there was stretched a small, dark man with a short, curling
beard. He lay as far as it was possible from the box, with his feet
towards it and his head away. A crimson patch was printed upon the
white canvas on which his head was resting, and little red ribbons
wreathed themselves round his swarthy neck and trailed away on to the
floor, but there was no sign of a wound that I could see, and his face
was as placid as that of a sleeping child. It was only when I stooped
that I could perceive his injury, and then I turned away with an
exclamation of horror. He had been pole-axed; apparently by some person
standing behind him. A frightful blow had s