The murderer, whoever he was, got little profit from his crime, for I
know pretty well the state of your poor father's finances, Harry; and
if, as Captain Branscome tells us, he had taken ten guineas from the
box, there must have been very few left in it."
"My good soul," said Miss Belcher, "the man wasn't after money!
He wanted the map this Captain Coffin had left in the Major's
keeping. That's as plain as the nose on your good, dear face.
If the map happened to be in the cashbox, and I'll bet ten to one it
wasn't--"
"You may bet ten thousand to one!" I cried. "It was never in the
cashbox at all. It was wrapped up in the flag my father carried into
the house."
"Bless the boy," said Miss Belcher; "he's not half a fool, after all!
Yes, yes--where is the flag?"
"On the flagstaff," said I. "I hoisted it there this morning."
"Eh?"
"And here," I panted, jumping up in my excitement, "here is Captain
Coffin's map!"
I heard Miss Belcher breathing hard as I lugged out the oilskin
packet, tore open the knotted string which bound it, and, drawing
forth the parchment, spread it, with shaking fingers, on the table.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE CHART OF MORTALLONE.
While the others drew their chairs closer, and while I spread flat
the parchment--which was crinkled (by the action of salt water,
maybe)--I had time to assure myself that this was the selfsame chart
of which Captain Coffin had once vouchsafed me a glimpse.
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