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“I am afraid,” I was forced to admit, “that to me pirates and buried treasure always suggest adventure. And your criticism of my writings is well observed. Others have discovered the same fatal weakness. We cannot all,” I pointed out, “manufacture unshrinkable flannels.”

At this compliment to his more fortunate condition, Edgar seemed to soften.

“I grant you,” he said, “that the subject has almost invariably been approached from the point of view you take. And what,” he demanded triumphantly, “has been the result? Failure, or at least, before success was attained, a most unnecessary and regrettable loss of blood and life. Now, on my expedition, I do not intend that any blood shall be shed, or that anybody shall lose his life. I have not entered into this matter hastily. I have taken out information, and mean to benefit by other people’s mistakes. When I decided to go on with this,” he explained, “I read all the books that bear on searches for buried treasure, and I found that in each case the same mistakes were made, and that then, in order to remedy the mistakes, it was invariably necessary to kill somebody. Now, by not making those mistakes, it will not be necessary for me to kill any one, and nobody is going to have a chance to kill me.

“You propose that we fit out a schooner and sign on a crew. What will happen? A man with a sabre cut across his forehead, or with a black patch over one eye, will inevitably be one of that crew. And, as soon as we sail, he will at once begin to plot against us. A cabin boy who the conspirators think is asleep in his bunk will overhear their plot and will run to the quarter-deck to give warning; but a pistol shot rings out, and the cabin boy falls at the foot of the companion ladder. The cabin boy is always the first one to go. After that the mutineers kill the first mate, and lock us in our cabin, and take over the ship. They will then broach a cask of rum, and all through the night we will listen to their drunken howlings, and from the cabin airport watch the body of the first mate rolling in the lee scuppers.”

“But you forget,” I protested eagerly, “there is always ONE faithful member of the crew, who—-“

Edgar interrupted me impatiently.

“I have not overlooked him,” he said. “He is a Jamaica negro of gigantic proportions, or the ship’s cook; but he always gets his too, and he gets it good. They throw HIM to the sharks! Then we all camp out on a desert island inhabited only by goats, and we build a stockade, and the mutineers come to treat with us under a white flag, and we, trusting entirely to their honor, are fools enough to go out and talk with them. At which they shoot us up, and withdraw laughing scornfully.” Edgar fixed his eye-glasses upon me accusingly.

“Am I right, or am I wrong?” he demanded. I was unable to answer. “The only man,” continued Edgar warmly, “who ever showed the slightest intelligence in the matter was the fellow in the ‘Gold Bug’. HE kept his mouth shut. He never let any one know that he was after buried treasure, until he found it. That’s me! Now I know EXACTLY where this treasure is, and—-“

I suppose, involuntarily, I must have given a start of interest; for Edgar paused and shook his head, slyly and cunningly. “And if you think I have the map on my person now,” he declared in triumph, “you’ll have to guess again!”

“Really,” I protested, “I had no intention—-“

“Not you, perhaps,” said Edgar grudgingly; “but your Japanese valet conceals himself behind those curtains, follows me home, and at night—-“

“I haven’t got a valet,” I objected.

Edgar merely smiled with the most aggravating self-sufficiency. “It makes no difference,” he declared. “NO ONE will ever find that map, or see that map, or know where that treasure is, until I point to the spot.”