his treasure. He was a deep-sea fisherman at one time, when he wasn’t a seaman, with considerable acquaintance with the various man-eating monsters of the deep. It is known that Hendrickson did some queer exploring and fishing along the rocky shores beyond [Pg 37]the estate. What did the villainous old pirate do but catch some big octopus—or some other such terrible ocean creature—and transplanted him to the lagoon where he was said to have concealed the treasure. [Pg 37] “That’s all there is to it. The beast is supposed to be there yet, growing bigger and fiercer and more terrible year by year. An octopus is supposed to live indefinitely, you know. Once in awhile, the story goes, it creeps up on the rocky shore of the lagoon and grabs off a colored man. When any one searches around for the chest he’s apt to meet up with Mr. Monster! Sure proof of his existence, the niggers say, is that Mas’r Somebody or other, the son of one of the subsequent owners of the estate, also mysteriously disappeared and has never been heard of since. When the blacks lose one of their own number they seem to regard it as a mere matter of course—but when ‘one of de white folks’ is taken, it’s another matter! And of course, even to this day, you can’t get a colored man to go within two hundred yards of the lagoon at night, and they hate to approach it even in the daylight. “The lagoon where the chest is supposed to be hidden is the one just outside my window, cut off from the sea by the natural rock wall you [Pg 38]just saw. The big crags and rocks and crevices are supposed to conceal his ferociousness the sea-monster, growing bigger and hungrier and fiercer every day. The house that Jason—or Hendrickson—bought, neglected, and let return to the owners is the one you’re sitting in, right now.” [Pg 38] [Pg 39] [Pg 39] CHAPTER V After Nealman and I had each smoked a cigarette, I thought of a little plan that might increase his guest’s interest in the week’s shoot and hunt. He had been right when he said that even incredible legends, believed by no one, still add flavor to the country manor. I didn’t see why we shouldn’t turn them into account. “I’ve got an idea,” I told him, “and it all depends whether or not you’ve already sent the invitations to your guests.” “No, I haven’t—just haven’t got around to it,” he
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