And I know what they've come back for!--they've opened the chests I took on board, and they've found there's naught but lead.

And they want me--me!--me! They'll torture me to make me tell where the real chests, the money is--torture me! Oh, for God's sake, keep 'em away from me--help me to hide--help me to get away--and I'll tell Miss Greyle then where the money's hid, and--oh, Lord, they're coming! Mr.Vickers--Mr.Vickers--" He cast himself bodily at Vickers, as if to clutch him, but Vickers stepped agilely aside, and Chatfield fell on the sand, where he lay groaning while the others looked from him to each other.
"Ah!" said Vickers at last.

"So that's it, is it, Chatfield?
Trying to cheat everybody all round, eh?
I suppose you'd have told Miss Greyle later that these people had collared all that gold--and then you'd have helped yourself to it?
And now I know what you were doing on that yacht when we boarded it--you were one of the gang, and you meant to hook it with them--" "I didn't--I didn't!" screamed Chatfield, beating the sand with his hands and feet.

"I meant to slip away from 'em at a Scotch port we was to call at, and then--" "Then you'd have gone back to the hidden chests and helped yourself," sneered Vickers.

"Chatfield, you're a wicked old scoundrel, and an unmitigated liar! Give me that paper that Miss Greyle signed, this instant!" "No!" interjected Audrey.