But just as I was almost prepared to give up the search and try elsewhere I noticed that at one spot the nails of the flooring seemed newer than at other parts. Calling to Cludde, with his assistance I prized up one of the boards, and the secret was instantly revealed. The board rested on one of the broad wooden pillars supporting the veranda. A hole had been cut down the center of the pillar, and there lay the missing money--doubloons and silver dollars. Leaving McTavish to gather them up and count them, Cludde and I went down to the kitchen. Vetch was tied to a chair (as Joe had been tied months before), and Joe was sitting over against him, with a cutlass on his knees. I told Vetch briefly that the money was found. Even now his bravado did not desert him. He repeated we had no right to call in question any action of his and that none but Sir Richard could claim an account of his stewardship. I did not reply, as I might have done, that the money, being found in the house after Mistress Lucy had come of age, was patently hers, and in attempting to recover it he was no better than a common housebreaker. I bade Punchard collect our men in readiness to march back to the brig, and strictly charged him that he should have every care of Vetch on the way. Then I saw a shadow of fear cross the villain's face. He knew that to brazen it out longer would avail him nothing, and 'twas his inward vision of the hangman, I doubt not, that caused him to go white to the lips. Cludde went from the room to gather his few possessions in preparation for our despatch. Vetch struggled with himself for a moment, then said huskily: "Bold, you must let me go. I will make it worth your while. Your father's will--is not destroyed; let me go--and I will tell you where it is." "I will make no terms with you," I said. "But what do you gain by refusing?" he cried. "You are only a lieutenant; promotion is slow; money would help you on. You have your revenge on me--and lose your property, for I vow I will tell you nothing unless you let me go." "I would not let you go for a king's ransom," I said. "The wrongs you have done me are nothing; but for your villainy I should not be a king's officer today. I could almost forgive you. But nothing in the world could persuade me to forget the wrongs you have done to a helpless woman--the indignities you put upon her, the villainous designs you harbored against her. No, you have done your rascally work--you shall take your wages." He said no more then, but presently, when Cludde returned he made an appeal to him. "Dick," he said, "you and I are bound by long friendship--" "Which you have killed," said Cludde, interrupting him. "But you will not forget all the past--our school days, the merry times we had then and after, all I have done with you, and for you. For a dozen years we were as close as brothers; you won't turn against me now?"