Spanish Gold. George A. Birmingham
but I'll just say this, speaking as a man with no special knowledge of geology, but still with a good general education—it doesn't look to me like pliocene clay, not in the least."
"I assure you, J. J., the geological map——"
"I'm not an expert, Higginbotharn, and I don't propose to start an argument with you on the subject. What's more, I don't advise you to try to argue with the Major. He's a good-natured man and easy to get on with so long as you don't touch his own particular subject. But he's as snappy as a fox in a trap if any one starts talking geology to him. You know what these experts are. It's the artistic temperament. You wouldn't like it yourself if some outsider began laying down the law to you about galvanised iron sheds."
"Still, I'd like to tell him——"
"Take my advice and don't. If you so much as mention pliocene clay, or tertiary deposits, or auriferous reefs, or anything of that kind to the Major, you'll be sorry afterwards. The best thing for you is not to let on that you know what he's here for at all."
"I won't, of course, if you say I'm not to, but——"
"That's right. It's better not, for your own sake. And besides, you'd only get me into a mess. I'd no business to tell you about the matter. The Major is frightfully particular about official reticence and all that kind of thing. He's a man of violent temper if he's roused. He'd do anything when his blood's up. In fact, they say that his career in the army was cut short on account of his smashing up a man who insisted on asking him questions he didn't want to answer. The! man recovered more or less in the end and the thing was hushed up, but the Major had to resign. Of course I can't be sure of the truth of that story. I only heard it at third hand. It may be nothing but gossip. But any way, don't you worry the Major. Let him potter about the island tapping rocks if he likes. He won't do you any harm."
"All right, old man. And look here, you and the Major had better come and feed with me to-night. I can't call it dinner, but I'll do the best I can. I've got a tinned tongue and a lobster."
"Delighted. I'll answer for the Major. And we'll subscribe to the feast. On a desert island every ship-wrecked mariner brings what he can to the common store. We'll contribute some corned beef and a tin of sardines. What time?"
"I've a little writing to do," said Higginbotham. "Shall we say 7.30? Of course you needn't dress."
"Thanks," said Meldon, with a grin; "we won't, if you're sure you don't mind. I'll take a stroll round the island and then go and fetch the Major."
CHAPTER V
THE island of Inishgowlan is formed on a simple plan, common among islands off the west coast of Ireland. The western side consists of a series of bluffs, rising occasionally to the dignity of cliffs. At the base of these the Atlantic rollers break themselves, carving out narrow gullies wherever they find a suitably soft place. From these bluffs the island slopes gradually down to its eastern coast.
Meldon, after leaving Higginbotham, walked to the top of the western ridge, climbing a number of loose stone walls on his way. He made his way to the highest point of the island, and from it surveyed the whole coast line. Then he sat down and thought. He was working out a plan for discovering the treasure, which, as he believed, lay concealed somewhere. After smoking two pipes he went down again to the pier, embarked in the collapsible punt, and paddled off to the Spindrift. The Major was sound asleep in the little cabin. Meldon woke him.
"It's all right," he said. "I've put Higginbotham completely off the scent. We can go where we like and do what we like and he'll ask no questions. We're to dine with him to-night. I hope you won't mind. I promised to bring along your corned beef and some sardines. Higginbotham doesn't seem to have anything except a tinned tongue and a lobster. I don't know how you feel, but I fancy I could account for the whole tongue myself without spoiling my appetite for the lobster."
"You're quite right," said the Major. "But what about drink? Shall we bring some whisky?"
"It might be just as well. Higginbotham wasn't a teetotaller when I knew him in college, but he may be now—you never can tell what fads a man will take up. He told me he was learning Irish."
"We'll take the whisky, then," said the Major.
The beef, the sardines, and the bottle were stowed in the bow of the punt. The Major seated himself in the stern. Meldon took the paddles.
"By the way," said Meldon, when about half the journey was accomplished, "what is pliocene clay?"
"I don't know. How could I know a thing like that? I never heard of the stuff before. Is there any of it on the island?"
"According to Higginbotham the whole island consists of nothing else."
"Let it. It makes no odds to us what it consists of."
"It may make a great deal of odds to you, Major."
Meldon had stopped paddling and sat looking at his friend. A smile lurked under his moustache; his eyes twinkled. A feeling of uneasiness, a premonition of coming evil, a sudden suspicion, took possession of the Major's mind.
"J. J.," he said solemnly, "tell me the truth. What did you say to that Congested Districts friend of yours ? What did you tell him we were here for?"
"I told him that you were a mining expert and that you'd been sent by the Lord-Lieutenant and the Chief Secretary to make a geological survey of the island."
"Great Scott!"
The Major started so violently that the punt rocked from side to side. The water lipped in first over one gunwale, then over the other.
"Sit still," said Meldon. "This is no place to be giving way to strong emotion. Remember that you are floating about in a beastly umbrella turned upside down, a thing that might shut up under you at any moment. It may not matter to you whether you are drowned or not, but I want to see my little girl again before I die."
"But—but—gracious Heavens, J. J.—"
"He believed it all right in the end," said Meldon. "He seemed a bit surprised at first, but I put it to him in a convincing way and I think he believed me. That was how we got on the subject of pliocene clay."
"Turn round," said the Major sternly, "and row back to the Spindrift. I'll up anchor and leave this place to-night! I'm not going ashore to be made a fool of by your abominable inventions."
"It's all right. You won't be made a fool of. Higginbotham will respect you all the more for being an expert. He's just the sort of man who looks up to experts. And he won't bother you with questions. I told him you were a man of violent temper and couldn't bear being worried about your work."
Meldon began to paddle towards the pier. The Major sat limp in the stern of the punt. A sweat had broken out on his forehead.
"What else did you tell him? Let me have the whole of it."
"Oh, nothing else. I never say a word more than is necessary. There's no commoner mistake than overdoing one's disguise."
"That's all well enough, but why couldn't you have put the disguise, as you call it, on yourself instead of me? Why didn't you say that you were a mining expert?"
"He wouldn't have believed that. I simply couldn't have made him believe that I know anything about pliocene clay."
"Well, you might have told him something else about yourself, something he would have believed. I hate being dragged into these entanglements."
"There's no entanglement that I can see," said Meldon. "But I'm sorry now that I mentioned you at all. If I'd known the way you'd feel about it, I wouldn't. I'll tell you what it is, Major, I'll take the very first opportunity of telling him something about myself. I'll shift the whole business off your shoulders. Higginbotham will forget all about you. Come, now,