had been cleverly loosened. There were also evidences of chalk marks,
something on the order of a diagram; but it was rather uncertain, as it
had been redrawn four or five times. The man hadn't been sure of his
ground.

"Can you see?" asked Fitzgerald.

"Yes." Only Breitmann himself knew what wild rage lay back of that
monosyllable. He was sure now; that diagram brushed away any lingering
doubt. The lock had been trifled with, but the man who had done the
work had not been sure of his dimensions.

"Clever piece of work. Took away the mortar in his pockets; no sign of
it here. The admiral had better send for his bricklayer, for more
reasons than one. There'll be a defective flue presently. Now, what
the devil is the duffer expecting to find?" Fitzgerald coolly turned
the light full into the other's face.

"It is beyond me," with equal coolness; "unless there's a pirate's
treasure behind there." The eyes blinked a little, which was but
natural.

"Pirate's treasure, you say?" Fitzgerald laughed. "That _would_ be a
joke, eh?"

"What now?" For Breitmann thought it best to leave the initiative with
his friend.

"A little run out to the stables," recalling to mind the rumor of the
night before.