The Captain turned it over and examined it. "But this doesn’t explain much, does it? And how do you come to know old Tyelake? All this happened twelve—fifteen—nearly twenty years ago, and he was pensioned soon after. And anyhow, what’s this got to do with it?" "That," Selby turned the paper over, "that’s the cemetery at Port des Reines, sir,"—and then he told them of a walking tour in the West Country (omitting the reason for it and other superfluous details) some two years before, and of the old man who had since solved, it is to be hoped to his satisfaction, his religious perplexities. The Assistant Paymaster removed his glasses and blinked excitedly, as was his habit when much moved. "But ... why couldn’t he find it when he went ashore? And why didn’t——" "Because he went to the wrong cemetery; there were two, d’you see, and he dug up the wrong one and didn’t find out there was another one till after they’d sailed. He never went there again." "No," said the Captain. "That’s right, we didn’t." The First Lieutenant laughed. "But just imagine him in that climate, tearing off the tombstones in his bowler hat and serge suit, with one eye on his watch all the time, and only finding coffins...!" "And then hearing when it was too late that he’d backed the wrong horse," added the Major of Marines. "But...." began the A.P. again, "_How_ much did you say? Seventy thousand pounds! My Aunt! Selby, have _you_ been there yet?" Selby smiled and shook his head. "I? No, I’ve been ’Channel-groping’ ever since; in fact, I’d forgotten all about it until the Captain mentioned Port des Reines. He was a very old man, and his wits were failing——" The Engineer Commander examined the plan. "But there may be something in the yarn, Selby. It seems almost worth while——" "A treasure hunt!" broke in the A.P. "Let’s all put in for a couple of months’ half-pay, and go out there! Hire a schooner, like they do in books." "Schooner!" ejaculated the Major. "I can see myself setting sail for the Antilles in a schooner! Ugh! It makes me feel queer to think of it!" "You’d look fine in a red smuggler’s cap and thigh-boots, Major," said the First Lieutenant. "That’s what treasure-hunters always wear." "With a black patch over one eye, and the skull and cross-bones embroidered on your brisket," supplemented an imaginative Watch-keeper. "’Yo! ho! and a bottle of rum!’—can’t you see yourself, Major? Only you ought to have a wooden leg." "Has anybody in the Mess ever been there?" inquired the Commander. "Why, the P.M.O.’s just come home from the West Indies; where is he?" At that moment the Fleet Surgeon entered, to be assailed by a volley of questions. "P.M.O.! You’re just the man! Where’s Porte des Reines?" "We’re all going treasure-hunting in a schooner with the Major!" "With the Jolly Roger at the fore!" "P.M.O., have you ever been to Porte des Reines?" "How many cemeteries are there there?"