Footprints on the Ceiling

Chapter Ten: EIGHT MILLION DOLLARS

In the early history of man the professions of medicine and of magic once merged in that common ancestor, the witch doctor. Both physician and magician have inherited from him a common trait, the poker face. Merlini’s is, of course, unexcelled; but Dr. Gail’s was a close second. Although his voice now seemed to express genuine surprise, his face neither agreed nor contradicted. “That’s a tall order, isn’t it? Why ask me?”

Merlini turned, picked a book off the mantelpiece, and dropped it on the table. The inscription on the backbone said: Treasure Hunters Holiday by Gordon Williams.

“I saw your mail,” Merlini explained. “Two letters, there by my chair, both addressed to Gordon Williams in care of his publishers and readdressed to you. You are Gordon Williams. In your off hours you’re an authority on lost treasures. And just now that’s what I’m beginning to suspect we need.”

Gail got up, retrieved the letters, and stuffed them in his pocket. “You’ve uncovered the skeleton in the Gail closet,” he said guiltily. “I’ve written two books and a number of magazine articles on the subject. I use the pen name to dodge the crank treasure hunters. Every time a book or article is published, they show up by the dozen loaded down with old maps, mostly worth about a few cents as old paper.”

“You and Floyd have a good bit in common then?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so. Only he doesn’t know it. His interest is genuine enough, but his motive is largely avaricious. He’s such an enthusiast, he’d have me talked into a treasure hunt before I knew it. Something I can’t afford. Anyone can do the research, but treasure hunting is a rich man’s hobby. International cup racing is cheaper; even if you lose, you still have the yacht. I’ve spent a few holidays nosing about in some of the better-authenticated spots, but I try to control myself. Floyd, on the other hand, has been stony lately because he dropped a lot into something called Caribbean Salvage Corporation. They were after the 50,000,000 or so in the 14 Spanish galleons that went down in 1715 off the Florida Keys.”

“Well what is it this time?” Merlini insisted. “Did Captain Skelton salt away some doubloons no one has uncovered yet? I saw no mention of that in the accounts I read of the Skelton-Boutell story?”

“No. You wouldn’t. Between ourselves and off the record I think there’s some possibility of that, but if anyone else has deduced it they’re keeping it quiet, like myself. That’s another reason I picked Skelton Island as a week-end residence. But this—” he indicated the guineas and the slates—“is something else again.” He picked up one of the coins and regarded it thoughtfully.

Merlini asked, “Those guineas the real McCoy?”

“Oh, yes. They’re real enough, but—” Gail bent again to examine the slate bearing the map. “You two might take a look at the map on the end papers of my book there.”

I drew it toward me and opened it out under the light. Merlini leaned above me. We saw a world map that carried, if one could believe the incredible legend below, an astonishing number of cross marks. The legend read: Lost Treasures of the World Estimated at $1,000,000 or More. Most of the X’s that marked the spots carried beside them figures, any one of which made the eyes pop.

“Of those treasures,” the Doctor said, “I think my ten favorites would include the great treasure fleet sunk in Vigo Bay with its estimated 100,000,000 to 800,000,000 of bullion; the 300,000,000 in the harbor of Cadiz; the 16 galleons with their 100,000,000 on the Silver Shoals; Bobadilla’s galleon with something variously estimated at between 2,000,000 and a round billion in gold and plate, and its ‘Golden Pig,’ the 3370-pound, world’s largest nugget; the several great pirate caches on Cocos; Alexander’s lost 65,000,000 to 300,000,000 in Bahawalpur in India; and the six fabulously incalculable Incan treasures: those in the sacrificial lakes of Titicaca and Guatavita; Valverde’s treasure; Atahualpa’s lost ransom with its 10-ton gold chain and the round dozen, life-size, golden statues from Cuzco’s Temple of the Sun; the hidden treasure of the holy city of Packakamak in Peru’s Valley of Lurin; the lost mine of Tisingal whose secret is still guarded by—”

“Could you tune in another station, Ross?” Merlini interrupted. “That’s the longest list of ten best I ever heard.”

“Sorry,” Gail grinned. “Ten was an understatement. And I can’t very well omit the 45 tons of silver Sir Francis Drake jettisoned off the Plate Isles because his Golden Hind had more than it could carry, or the mysteriously unaccounted-for Money Pits of Oak Island, or the six lost temples in the jungles of Kandeshi with their 10-foot idol loaded with diamonds and pearls, or the submerged pirate capital of Port Royal with its incredibly vast—”

“Hallucinations,” I said quickly, looking at Merlini, my forefinger describing a rotary motion about my right ear.

“He’s loco too.”

“Damned optimist anyway,” Merlini said.

Gail nodded cynically. “Sure, I know. The figures sound like an astronomer’s interstellar distances. Cut them in half, or even quarter them, to discount possible exaggeration — I don’t care. It’s still a tidy sum. Just the same I can show you a report of the U. S. Bureau of Mines which estimates that a total of $42,000,000,000 worth of gold was produced by the world between 1492 and 1933, and further states that about one half has dropped completely out of sight, most of it in shipwrecks. And remember that that $21,000,000,000 does not include any silver or precious stones and nothing before 1492. Figure it out for yourself.”

“I know, Ross,” Merlini guessed. “He’s a pick-and-shovel salesman in disguise.” He turned to Gail. “According to this pipe dream of a map, the coasts of Peru, Venezuela, Ecuador, Panama, and the Carribean Islands are literally sprinkled with gold and jewels. In many instances you actually give longitude and latitude. If the loot is located that exactly, why is it such an expensive job to get and why hasn’t more of it been salvaged?”

“I’m always answering that question. Wondered how soon you’d ask it. Answer is that the easy-to-get treasures have been gotten. You seldom hear about them because governments have a habit of annexing such large cuts that the successful finder keeps mum. The hard ones are left. Little things like sharks, deep and treacherous waters, poisoned coral, hurricanes, landslides, and hostile tribes guard the rest. Many of them never will be reached.”

“But there aren’t any hostile tribes or poisoned coral in the immediate vicinity of New, York City. What about these two fat little crosses you’ve plopped down here in the East River?”

“How do you suppose Hell Gate got its name?” Gail replied. “Treacherous waters. The tides between the Sound and the Ocean rip through such a narrow bottleneck that they are uncertain, swift, and dangerous. Which brings us finally to the point. I’ve been waiting for you to spot those crosses. The treasure hunter, you see, doesn’t have to traipse off to tropic seas. He has two nice sunken treasure ships right in his back yard, just a hop, skip, and jump from Radio City — and less from Skelton Island. You can look out over the water that covers them both from my kitchen window here.”

“How many millions this time?”

“Oh, just a few — The British frigate Lexington went down out there in the late eighteenth century carrying 4000 kegs of fine silver plate, half a ton of gold, and half a million Mexican dollars looted from Vera Cruz. The better-known Hussar contains specie estimated, according to different accounts, at anywhere from $1,000,000 to $8,000,000, with most authorities plumping for a figure of $4,800,000. And that’s the ship someone hereabouts would seem to be interested in. Her commanding officer was one Captain Charles M. Pole.”

“How do you get that 8,000,000 figure?” Merlini asked. “£960,000 times five doesn’t do it?”

“There was more gold in a guinea in those days. You can get about $8.50 apiece from a dealer, and at retail he’ll charge about $12.”

I groaned inwardly. The contents of that blasted suitcase were increasing in value by the minute.

“Do you think,” asked Merlini, “that you could give us a simple, condensed synopsis of the tragedy without making noises like an adding machine?”

The Doctor poured himself another cup of coffee. “I’ll try,” he grinned. “H.M.S. Hussar was a full-rigged frigate carrying 28 guns. She sailed from England with money to pay the long-overdue wages of the Hessian troops and anchored on September 13, 1780, in New York Harbor. She took on more specie from the British paymaster’s office in Cherry Street as the slate message states, although that transfer from the Mercury, another pay ship, is disputed by the authorities who stick to the 4,000,000 figure. The papers of the period say that there were 70 American prisoners of war chained in her hold, so that the money, however much there is, is well guarded by the traditional dead men.… The Hussar cleared a few days after her arrival for a destination somewhere along the Connecticut coast or possibly Newport, Rhode Island. She sailed without a pilot and was guided by a Negro slave named Swan. She struck Pot Rock, a reef near Randall’s Island that has since been blown up. Swan became frightened, leaped overboard, and swam for shore. Captain Pole carried on and tried to make the mouth of a small river that flowed into Hell Gate where 134th Street is now. But she began to sink rapidly, and he didn’t quite make it. He did manage to get a hawser fastened to a tree on shore, but the ship sank in about 70 feet of water and pulled the tree up by the roots.”

“Salvage attempts were made weren’t they?” Merlini asked.

Gail nodded. “A good many. The first attempts while her masts were still above water. But the diving equipment available at that time was no match for the tides. A diving-bell attempt in 1824 reached the wreck but salvaged nothing of importance. About 50 years afterward, an English expedition tried it — an interesting attempt because it contradicts the British Admiralty’s denial during the War of 1812 that the Hussar contained any treasure whatsoever. That statement has, of course, always been suspect, since the Admiralty had obvious motives for such a denial at that time. The location of the hulk was buoyed until 1850 and there were several other attempts. Pratt and Bancroft retrieved some cannon, clothing, and 35 guineas; Captain George Thomas, in 1880, got a concession from the Treasury Department to salvage, and sold stock in Treasure Trove, Inc.; and in 1900 some divers after a sunken yacht found the Hussar’s anchor.”

“Didn’t Simon Lake go after it a few years ago?” I put in. “I seem to remember some news stories.”

“Yes. He tried it most recently. He worked at it through the summers of 1934-36 and recovered exactly 86 cents in modern coins. By now, of course, the ship is pretty well silted over. Lake found three possible hulks in about the right spot, all covered with silt and a strata of tar which was pumped into the river by gas works in the years before they realized it was a valuable by-product. It may yet be salvaged, but that silt and tar along with the difficult currents will make it an expensive job — as I said, it’s the world’s most expensive hobby.”

“You said Thomas had a concession from the Government. Lake have one?” Merlini inquired.

“He was given one in 1933, and, as far as I know it still gives him first chance. The Federal Government controls all dredging and salvaging operations in rivers and harbors, and, in addition, in this instance, claims the Hussar as an enemy ship sunk during wartime in American waters. Lake’s contract agrees to give the Treasury 10 percent.”

“That,” Merlini said slowly, “is that. No wonder that crowd down there won’t open up and talk. They’re nosing about after the Hussar and they don’t have a permit. Eight million dollars — the spirits appear to accept the larger figure — is the darky in the woodpile. There should be a motive for murder in that. I think we’re going to be able to supply Gavigan with a nice, interesting set of questions for tomorrow. Why, if the treasure is the motive, was Linda the one to get the ax? I should think—” His voice trailed off thoughtfully.

“Wish you’d find out for me,” Gail said, “why the cross on that slate map is where it is. Will you?”

“Yes. It doesn’t check with your story, does it?”

“Not by about 300 yards. The Hussar has always been supposed to lie on the other shore, about 100 yards off 134th Street. Divining rods have been used to locate treasures, and, lately a radio device has proved very successful, but there aren’t many instances of treasure hunters using advice from the Beyond. One or two that I know of, but—”

“It sounds like a pretty good method to me,” I said.

Both poker faces relaxed long enough to let some surprise show through. Almost together, they both jumped me. “Why?”

“Because,” I observed, “a whole suitcase brimming over with genuine gold guineas looks just a wee bit as if someone may have been hunting about in the right place. That map on the slate could be a blind, you know.”

I started to light a cigarette as they thought that over, and stopped, with the match burning in my hand. The deep-throated roar of an airplane motor came from overhead, low at first, then quickly, nearer and louder.

“That’s the plane,” Merlini said, jumping’ to his feet. “And Gavigan’s not here yet! Let’s go!”

“Plane?” Dr. Gail said. “What plane?’

But he got no answer from us. Merlini and I were on our way out, running as if Lucifer and all his winged hosts were close at our heels.