It was a long job, but it's six foot down and the dead man it belonged to atop of it." The pipe fell from the listener's fingers and smashed unheeded on the floor.
"You ought to make a book of it," he said at last.
The captain shook his head.

"I haven't got the gift of story-telling," he said, simply.

"Besides, you can understand I don't want it noised about.

People might bother me." He leaned back in his chair and bunched his beard in his hand; the other, watching him closely, saw that his thoughts were busy with some scene in his stirring past.
"Not a friend of yours, I hope ?" said Mr.Chalk, at last.
"Who ?" inquired the captain, starting from his reverie.
"The dead man atop of the treasure," replied the other.
"No," said the captain, briefly.
"Is it worth much ?" asked Mr.Chalk.
"Roughly speaking, about half a million," responded the captain, calmly.
Mr.Chalk rose and walked up and down the room.

His eyes were bright and his face pinker than usual.
"Why don't you get it ?" he demanded, at last, pausing in front of his host.
"Why, it ain't mine," said the captain, staring.