E. W. Hornung: Dead Men Tell No Tales

CHAPTER 14: IN THE GARDEN (continued)

"It was also gold: twelve thousand ounces from the diggings. That was the real mystery. Do you mean to say you never guessed?"

"No, by Jove I didn't!" said I. She had diverted my interest at last. I asked her if she had known on board.

"Not until the last moment. I found out during the fire. Do you remember when we said good-by? I was nearly telling you then."

Did I remember! The very letter of that last interview was cut deep in my heart; not a sleepless night had I passed without rehearsing it word for word and look for look; and sometimes, when sorrow had spent itself, and the heart could bleed no more, vain grief had given place to vainer speculation, and I had cudgelled my wakeful brains for the meaning of the new and subtle horror which I had read in my darling's eyes at the last. Now I understood; and the one explanation brought such a tribe in its train, that even the perilous ecstasy of the present moment was temporarily forgotten in the horrible past.

"Now I know why they wouldn't have me in the gig! " I cried softly.

"She carried four heavy men's weight in gold."

"When on earth did they get it aboard?"

"In provision boxes at the last; but they had been filling the boxes for weeks."

"Why, I saw them doing it!" I cried. "But what about the gig? Who picked you up?"

She was watching that open door once more, and she answered with notable indifference, "Mr. Rattray."

"So that's the connection!" said I; and I think its very simplicity was what surprised me most.

"Yes; he was waiting for us at Ascension."

"Then it was all arranged?"