Cursed be the treasureDrake, H. B. (Henry Burgess)
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Cursed be the treasure
Drake, H. B. (Henry Burgess)
Adventure stories; England -- Fiction; Love stories; Mystery fiction; Treasure troves -- Fiction
At that I thought of Worthing who would have uncompromisingly declared
that blood must atone for blood. Was that the reason, I asked myself,
why my father's murder had sunk into insignificance with him? Had he
come on the trail of a greater crime? Was it for that he had hunted
down Abou, as he thought, promising him life if he would tell the
secret of the entrance? It wasn't gold he was after; that I felt sure
of. Was it justice?
With these questions tumultuously buzzing in my mind I reached the
_Dolphin_, wearily climbed the stairs, and opened the door of my room.
Facing me as I entered was the Captain himself. Without realizing what
I was doing I exclaimed:
"Commander Meadows!" In a frightened whisper I added, "Of the _Tiger_."
CHAPTER XXXII
INTO THE MORNING
I saw a smile of greeting change into a grimace of stupefied dismay.
My mind went back to the morning when in the kitchen just beneath us I
had blurted out, "The smugglers!" I stood horrified at what I had done.
This dismay on the Captain's face grew into an expression of savage
cunning, and I knew that all the deviltry of his lifelong madness was
roused to a ferocious passion. His head sank below his shoulders; his
hands curled and stiffened like the claws of an enraged beast; his eyes
at first swelled glaringly from their sockets, then sank back beneath
the half-closed lids in a terrible scrutiny of menace. And suddenly he
sprang upright with his hands thrown behind his head, and burst into a
peal of demoniac laughter more terrifying than the brutal crouching of
his first posture. And still I stood motionless watching him.
His frenzied mirth subsided at length into broken gigglings, hysterical
and unnatural. Tottering a little he felt about for a chair and sat
down heavily. Then drawing out a huge kerchief he mopped his brow which
was beaded over with perspiration, and still faintly chuckling said,
"Ha, yes, excellent; excellent, indeed. That's good, Tommy; that's a
good joke, a really good joke, 'pon my soul." He threw back his head
and forced out a harsh laugh.
I took a step forward. "Sir," I began, wondering how I might undo the
evil I had done. But at that he sprang up, and his savage madness
returned upon him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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