Black Bartlemys Treasure

"Snoring, likely enough!" says I, "Not so far hence, or tramping hither."

"If so, Martin, then Death cannot touch him, the which is out of all reason!"

"'Tis more like the fall did not kill him, Adam."

"Had you but seen the place, shipmate! But if water won't drown him and steel won't harm him--"

"Like you, he wears a chain-shirt, Adam, that I do know. Moreover, the devil cherisheth his own, I've heard."

"Why here's reason, Martin, plain reason I grant, and yet--but 'tis late and you'll be for sleep, and there's reason in that too. Come, I'll show your bed--"

"Spare yourself--I want no bed," says I bitterly. "'Twere a luxury wasted on the likes o' me. My couch shall be the corner yonder."

"Ah, prideful youth! 'Tis sweet to be young, Martin!" says Penfeather with his sudden, whimsical half-smile and clapping his hand on my shoulder. "Sleep where ye will, that corner is as good as another. See, there stands my tuck, a Spanish blade of notable good temper, it hath been a true friend to me many a time ere now and should be a trusty bedfellow. As for me, I'm for a feather-bed. And, Martin," says he, pausing to pinch his chin and view me sideways, "if aught should chance to me--at any time--the chart and treasure will be yours. So good-night, comrade, and sleep sound, for 'tis like we shall wake betimes."

Saying which he turned, slow and thoughtful, and went out, closing the door softly behind him. As for me, being very drowsy, I wrapped myself in my weather-worn cloak, blew out the candles and, lying down in the corner, was presently fast asleep.

Now as I slept I dreamed that Penfeather's long rapier, standing in the dark corner close by, was stealthily endeavouring to free itself from its leathern scabbard with intent to skewer me to the floor as I lay; and, striving thus to draw itself, made soft, strange noises and rustlings insomuch that I presently woke, and staring motionless into the darkness above, knew that these sounds were real. Somewhere close by was a furtive whisper of sound that came and went, a soft-drawn breath, a scraping of fingers on the panelling above me in the darkness; and in that moment also I became aware that the lattice yawned wide upon a square of glimmering blackness. Suddenly a sly-creeping foot touched me unseen and then (even as the owner of this foot tripped over me) came the roaring flash of a pistol hard by, followed immediately by another and, as I lay deafened and half-dazed, the floor quivered to the soft, vicious thud of leaping, swift-trampling feet, and on the air was a confused scuffling, mingled with an awful, beast-like worrying sound. And now (though I was broad-awake and tingling for action) I constrained myself to lie still, nothing stirring, for here (as I judged) was desperate knife-play, indeed more than once I heard the faint click of steel. And now rose shouts and cries and a tramp of feet on the stair without. Someone reeled staggering across the room, came a-scrabbling at the open casement and, as I leapt up, the door burst open and Joel Bym appeared flourishing a naked hanger and with Godby behind bearing a lanthorn, whose flickering light showed Adam, knife in hand, where he leaned panting against the wall, a smear of blood across his pallid face and with shirt and doublet torn in horrid fashion.