Regan retained the card a moment. “Why go fishing? After all, it’s only recreation. Here’s a full-size man’s recreation. It’s about old Morgan’s treasure. Look, your father always was always proud of that old family pirate.”

“I was told about his treasure. Look, here is the map.”

Francis looked up questioningly from the reading of the card.

“Senor Torres,” Regan explained. “Gave me the map. Here is the treasure buried. Of course, I don’t believe a word of it. But… You know, Sir Henry died practically a poor man, and they never did find any of his buried treasure. Oh, I wish I were younger!… Anyway, good fishing,” Regan girded edly.

“I’d like to meet this Alvarez Torres,” the young man responded. “Do you know where I can find him?”

The next morning the meeting took place in Regan’s office. Modern maps and ancient charts were studies, as well as old documents, and at the end of half an hour Francis announced that his next fishing would be on the Bull Island,[16] where – as Torres averred – the treasure lay.

“I’ll catch tonight’s train for New Orleans,” Francis announced. “And then I’ll go to Colon![17]”

“But don’t charter a schooner[18] at Colon,” Torres advised. “It’s better in Belen.[19]”

“I always wanted to see that country down there!” Francis said. “And you, Senor Torres?”

“I shall join you later, Mr. Morgan.” Alvarez Torres said. “I have some little business here.”

“And, before you start,” Regan noticed, “it might be well to arrange with Senor Torres some division of the treasure… if you ever find it.”

“What would you say?” Francis asked.

“Equal division, fifty-fifty,” Regan answered, he was talking of something he was certain did not exist.

“Fine!” Francis cried. “And I’ve got to rush to pack and break engagements and catch the train. Good-bye, Regan. Good-bye, Senor Torres, until we meet somewhere around Bocas del Toro, or in on the Bull!”

And Senor Alvarez Torres remained with Regan some time longer, receiving explicit instructions.

“In short,” Regan concluded, “I don’t almost care if he never comes back if you can keep him down there for the good of his health that long and longer.”

So Francis Morgan, three weeks after he had said good-bye to Regan, found himself on board his schooner, the Angelique.[20] The water was glassy. Francis, through his glass, saw a white hacienda, and, on the beach, a white-clad woman’s form. He asked the captain to order a small skiff over the side.[21]

“Who lives around here?” he asked.

“The Enrico Solano[22] family, sir,” was the answer. “They own the entire general landscape from the sea to the Cordilleras[23] and half of the Chiriqui Lagoon[24] as well. They are prideful and fiery as cayenne pepper.[25]”

Straight to the white beach of coral sand Francis rowed, not looking over his shoulder to see if the woman remained or had vanished. When the skiff grounded, he stepped out, and with one sturdy arm lifted its nose up the sand to fasten it by its own weight. Then he turned around. The beach to the jungle was bare. He went forward confidently.

Suddenly, the woman sprang out of the green wall of jungle and with both hands seized his arm. She muttered tensely:

“Quick! Follow me!”

A moment he resisted. She shook him.

“Do as I do.”

He smiled and obeyed. Abruptly she stopped and sat down, her hand directed him to sit beside her. “Thank God!”

“My dear lady…” Francis began.

But an abrupt gesture checked him. He heard the movement of men several yards away.

She slipped away down the runway. Francis followed her, through the jungle to the beach. She stopped.