What hit me between the eyes was that date!
Dr. Gail’s voice attempted calmness, but it missed fire. “Where did you get these?” he asked Merlini.
“Found them kicking about down there.” Merlini nodded in the direction of the other house. I hadn’t known that articles locked in a safe could be described as kicking about but I let it pass.
“And you want to know?” Gail inquired slowly.
Merlini pulled himself up out of his chair and stood before the fireplace. “I want to know what it’s all about.”
Chapter Ten:
EIGHT MILLION DOLLARS
In the early history of man the professions of medicine and of magic once merged in that common ancestor, the witch doctor. Both physician and magician have inherited from him a common trait, the poker face. Merlini’s is, of course, unexcelled; but Dr. Gail’s was a close second. Although his voice now seemed to express genuine surprise, his face neither agreed nor contradicted. “That’s a tall order, isn’t it? Why ask me?”
Merlini turned, picked a book off the mantelpiece, and dropped it on the table. The inscription on the backbone said: Treasure Hunters Holiday by Gordon Williams.
“I saw your mail,” Merlini explained. “Two letters, there by my chair, both addressed to Gordon Williams in care of his publishers and readdressed to you. You are Gordon Williams. In your off hours you’re an authority on lost treasures. And just now that’s what I’m beginning to suspect we need.”
Gail got up, retrieved the letters, and stuffed them in his pocket. “You’ve uncovered the skeleton in the Gail closet,” he said guiltily. “I’ve written two books and a number of magazine articles on the subject. I use the pen name to dodge the crank treasure hunters. Every time a book or article is published, they show up by the dozen loaded down with old maps, mostly worth about a few cents as old paper.”
“You and Floyd have a good bit in common then?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so. Only he doesn’t know it. His interest is genuine enough, but his motive is largely avaricious. He’s such an enthusiast, he’d have me talked into a treasure hunt before I knew it. Something I can’t afford. Anyone can do the research, but treasure hunting is a rich man’s hobby. International cup racing is cheaper; even if you lose, you still have the yacht. I’ve spent a few holidays nosing about in some of the better-authenticated spots, but I try to control myself. Floyd, on the other hand, has been stony lately because he dropped a lot into something called Caribbean Salvage Corporation. They were after the 50,000,000 or so in the 14 Spanish galleons that went down in 1715 off the Florida Keys.”
“Well what is it this time?” Merlini insisted. “Did Captain Skelton salt away some doubloons no one has uncovered yet? I saw no mention of that in the accounts I read of the Skelton-Boutell story?”
“No. You wouldn’t. Between ourselves and off the record I think there’s some possibility of that, but if anyone else has deduced it they’re keeping it quiet, like myself. That’s another reason I picked Skelton Island as a week-end residence. But this—” he indicated the guineas and the slates—“is something else again.” He picked up one of the coins and regarded it thoughtfully.
Merlini asked, “Those guineas the real McCoy?”
“Oh, yes. They’re real enough, but—” Gail bent again to examine the slate bearing the map. “You two might take a look at the map on the end papers of my book there.”
I drew it toward me and opened it out under the light. Merlini leaned above me. We saw a world map that carried, if one could believe the incredible legend below, an astonishing number of cross marks. The legend read: Lost Treasures of the World Estimated at $1,000,000 or More. Most of the X’s that marked the spots carried beside them figures, any one of which made the eyes pop.
“Of those treasures,” the Doctor said, “I think my ten favorites would include the great treasure fleet sunk in Vigo Bay with its estimated 100,000,000 to 800,000,000 of bullion; the 300,000,000 in the harbor of Cadiz; the 16 galleons with their 100,000,000 on the Silver Shoals; Bobadilla’s galleon with something variously estimated at between 2,000,000 and a round billion in gold and plate, and its ‘Golden Pig,’ the 3370-pound, world’s largest nugget; the several great pirate caches on Cocos; Alexander’s lost 65,000,000 to 300,000,000 in Bahawalpur in India; and the six fabulously incalculable Incan treasures: those in the sacrificial lakes of Titicaca and Guatavita; Valverde’s treasure; Atahualpa’s lost ransom with its 10-ton gold chain and the round dozen, life-size, golden statues from Cuzco’s Temple of the Sun; the hidden treasure of the holy city of Packakamak in Peru’s Valley of Lurin; the lost mine of Tisingal whose secret is still guarded by—”
“Could you tune in another station, Ross?” Merlini interrupted. “That’s the longest list of ten best I ever heard.”
“Sorry,” Gail grinned. “Ten was an understatement. And I can’t very well omit the 45 tons of silver Sir Francis Drake jettisoned off the Plate Isles because his Golden Hind had more than it could carry, or the mysteriously unaccounted-for Money Pits of Oak Island, or the six lost temples in the jungles of Kandeshi with their 10-foot idol loaded with diamonds and pearls, or the submerged pirate capital of Port Royal with its incredibly vast—”
“Hallucinations,” I said quickly, looking at Merlini, my forefinger describing a rotary motion about my right ear.
“He’s loco too.”
“Damned optimist anyway,” Merlini said.
Gail nodded cynically. “Sure, I know. The figures sound like an astronomer’s interstellar distances. Cut them in half, or even quarter them, to discount possible exaggeration — I don’t care. It’s still a tidy sum. Just the same I can show you a report of the U. S. Bureau of Mines which estimates that a total of $42,000,000,000 worth of gold was produced by the world between 1492 and 1933, and further states that about one half has dropped completely out of sight, most of it in shipwrecks. And remember that that $21,000,000,000 does not include any silver or precious stones and nothing before 1492. Figure it out for yourself.”
“I know, Ross,” Merlini guessed. “He’s a pick-and-shovel salesman in disguise.” He turned to Gail. “According to this pipe dream of a map, the coasts of Peru, Venezuela, Ecuador, Panama, and the Carribean Islands are literally sprinkled with gold and jewels. In many instances you actually give longitude and latitude. If the loot is located that exactly, why is it such an expensive job to get and why hasn’t more of it been salvaged?”
“I’m always answering that question. Wondered how soon you’d ask it. Answer is that the easy-to-get treasures have been gotten. You seldom hear about them because governments have a habit of annexing such large cuts that the successful finder keeps mum. The hard ones are left. Little things like sharks, deep and treacherous waters, poisoned coral, hurricanes, landslides, and hostile tribes guard the rest. Many of them never will be reached.”
“But there aren’t any hostile tribes or poisoned coral in the immediate vicinity of New, York City. What about these two fat little crosses you’ve plopped down here in the East River?”
“How do you suppose Hell Gate got its name?” Gail replied. “Treacherous waters. The tides between the Sound and the Ocean rip through such a narrow bottleneck that they are uncertain, swift, and dangerous. Which brings us finally to the point. I’ve been waiting for you to spot those crosses. The treasure hunter, you see, doesn’t have to traipse off to tropic seas. He has two nice sunken treasure ships right in his back yard, just a hop, skip, and jump from Radio City — and less from Skelton Island. You can look out over the water that covers them both from my kitchen window here.”