“Well, the fellow was sort of grateful about it. Hung around like a dog. About six months later he died of fever. I was with him. Last thing, just as he was pegging out, he beckoned me and whispered some excited jargon about a secret⁠—a gold mine, I thought he said. Shoved an oilskin packet into my hand which he’d always worn next his skin. Well, I didn’t think much of it at the time. It wasn’t until a week afterwards that I opened the packet. Then I was curious, I must confess. I shouldn’t have thought that Dutch Pedro would have had the sense to know a gold mine when he saw it⁠—but there’s no accounting for luck⁠—”

“And at the mere thought of gold, your heart beat pitter-pat as always,” interrupted Anthony.

“I was never so disgusted in my life. Gold mine, indeed! I daresay it may have been a gold mine to him, the dirty dog. Do you know what it was? A woman’s letters⁠—yes, a woman’s letters, and an Englishwoman at that. The skunk had been blackmailing her⁠—and he had the impudence to pass on his dirty bag of tricks to me.”