"I leave Jethou to-night to join my vessel, which is about to make a voyage to the West Indies, to see what business can be done there. I leave this paper, so that should I never return, the goods I have so industriously and riskily gathered together, may still be of service to someone who may have skill enough to discover their whereabouts. Signed "JEAN TUSSAUD (Barbe Rouge), "Feb. 19, 17--." Here was a puzzle to which for weeks I could obtain no clue whatever, but one day as I was sitting under the shade of the huge walnut tree overlooking the garden, the idea came into my mind that this kind of tree flourishes for generations, and from the gigantic proportions of this particular tree, it must be a great deal more than a century old. I found Monday, and asked him how old he thought it would be, and he gave it as his opinion that it was one hundred and fifty years old, if it was a day. Then said I, "What is the French for walnut tree?" "Noyer," was his reply, and into my pocket went my hand to bring out the mystic document to see if there was an N on the chart. Joy, there was, and at sight of it my hand trembled violently, and I felt ready to choke with excitement, as I believed I had now a key to the finding of the treasure. Monday was as excited as myself, all he could exclaim was, "Oh, la, la! Oh, la, la!" which was with him a mark of supreme delight. We fetched the yard measure, and commenced our survey, as I shrewdly guessed the fine old mulberry tree had something to do with the calculations; if so the distance from the mulberry tree (Murier accounting for the letter M) to the walnut tree would be twenty-four yards; so we measured, but could not make the distance correct, as we made it 26-2/3 yards, or just eight feet too much. This quite nonplussed us, and our excitement greatly abated; but we were not yet vanquished, and set our wits to work to discover the meaning of another of the letters from which we could take further measurements. Being near N (the walnut tree) I walked round the garden wall to the point marked EC, but could there find no landmark at all from which to measure. A century ago something may have stood there, but now it was a bare spot. Here was another rebuff which seemed to upset my theory altogether, and Monday with long visage said, "Crusoe, you are on the wrong scent, you have 'shaken hands with a shadow.'" "Wait a bit, Monday. 'A cracked pitcher will hold _some_ water,' and although I may be wrong on some of the points, I may find at least _one_ correct one presently." We then walked along to the corner of the wall at the angle of which was the letter P. At this point stood the well. "What is French for '_well_', Monday." "Puit." "Puit?" At this I gave a yell of delight. "Eureka! I believe. Measure away, good comrade; measure away!" "Where to, noble Crusoe?"