The Green Flag, and Other Stories of War and SportDoyle, Arthur Conan
History
The Green Flag, and Other Stories of War and Sport
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Sports stories, English; War stories, English
The bills of lading, and some notes and letters which lay upon the desk,
sufficed to inform me that the Brazilian brig _Nossa Sehnora da
Vittoria_ had cleared from Bahia a month before. The name of the
captain was Texeira, but there was no record as to the number of the
crew. She was bound for London, and a glance at the bills of lading was
sufficient to show me that we were not likely to profit much in the way
of salvage. Her cargo consisted of nuts, ginger, and wood, the latter
in the shape of great logs of valuable tropical growths. It was these,
no doubt, which had prevented the ill-fated vessel from going to the
bottom, but they were of such a size as to make it impossible for us to
extract them. Besides these, there were a few fancy goods, such as a
number of ornamental birds for millinery purposes, and a hundred cases
of preserved fruits. And then, as I turned over the papers, I came upon
a short note in English, which arrested my attention.
It is requested (said the note) that the various old Spanish
and Indian curiosities, which came out of the Santarem
collection, and which are consigned to Prontfoot & Neuman
of Oxford Street, London, should be put in some place where
there may be no danger of these very valuable and unique articles
being injured or tampered with. This applies most particularly
to the treasure-chest of Don Ramirez di Leyra, which must on
no account be placed where 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.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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