London, though he has not a hundred guineas at his disposal. As he
stands debating, a hand touches his arm and a voice says in his ear:
"You were within a mile of it with the Atgier Rose, two years ago."

The great adventurer turns. "The devil I was! And who are you?"

Satanic humour plays in the stranger's eyes as he answers: "I am Edward
Bucklaw, pirate and keeper of the treasure-house in the La Planta River."

"Blood of Judas," Phips says, "how dare you speak to me? I'll have you
in yon prison for an unhung rascal!"

"Ah! you are a great man," is the unmoved reply. "I knew you'd feel
that way. But if you'll listen for five minutes, down here at the Bull-
and-Daisy, there shall be peace between us."

An hour later, Phips, following Bucklaw's instructions, is tracing on a
map the true location of the lost galleon's treasure.

"Then," says Bucklaw, "we are comrades?"

"We are adventurers."

Another scene. In a northern inland sea two men are standing on the deck
of a ship: the one stalwart, clear-eyed, with a touch of strong reserve
in face and manner; the other of middle height, with sinister look. The
former is looking out silently upon the great locked hummocks of ice
surrounding the vessel. It is the early morning. The sun is shining
with that hard brightness only seen in the Arctic world--keen as silver,
cold as steel. It plays upon the hummocks, and they send out shafts of