Benchley, Peter by The Deep [txt] Read Free Book Online Page A

chest.
    But not this one. The best hope is that you found the one and only ampule left.”
    “Why?” asked Sanders.
    “Because there are people who’d slit your throat for a fraction of what the rumors say is down there. How much did you tell that fellow last night?”
    “Nothing. We didn’t
    know
    anything, except that we found the ampule in the general area of
    Goliath.”
    Treece looked out the window. Finally he said, “Would you be willing to take another plunge, have another look? Not today. The sea’d turn a diver to hash. But tomorrow?”
    Sanders looked at Gail. “Sure.”
    “It’s important to know if there’s anything more down there. If there isn’t, fine. But if there is, I’ll want to get it up before every hophead between here and the Bahamas finds out about it and starts diving for a cheap charge. I’d go myself, but that would be like running a flag up a pole.” Treece began to search through some cabinets. “Any time I get my feet wet, the papers start trumpeting about treasure. And now that someone knows there may be something on Goliath,
    for me to go down would be a dead giveaway.” He reached deep into the back of a cabinet and brought out two fist-size rocks, which he put on the table.
    “If you come across another ampule, set one of these on
    the spot. The shiny chips are infrared reflectors. I’ll go down of a night with an infrared torch and poke around.”
    “Okay,” said Sanders. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
    “If the wind behaves.”
    Gail stood up, and as she lifted her bundle from the table, she noticed the black lump David had found. She pointed at it and said to Treece, “Is that coal?”
    “No.” Treece picked up the lump. “It’s a sulfide of some kind. I can look inside for you, but there’s a risk of ruining it.”
    “That’s okay.”
    Treece took a hammer and chisel from the counter, sat down at the table, and set the black lump in front of him. The hammer looked like a toy in his huge, scarred hand; his thumbnail was as big as the face of the hammer head. But he used the tools as gently and deftly as a gem-cutter. He probed the lump, chipping here and there, found a hairline crack near the center, and lined the chisel blade on the crack. He banged the chisel once, and the lump fell apart in two pieces. Examining the two halves, he smiled. “It’s a nice one. Can’t quite read the date, but otherwise, it’s a dandy.”
    “What is it?” said Sanders.
    “The bones of a piece of eight, ancestor of the bloody dollar.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Look.” Treece held the two halves of the lump to the light. In the black mass, Sanders saw the faint imprint of a cross, a castle, and a rampant lion. “That was once a silver coin. When it hit the briny, it began to oxidize.
    Then it
     
    became silver sulfide. That’s all that’s left, a shadow. Silver does that, unless there’s a heap of it, or it lies up against iron. Then it’s preserved pretty well.”
    “You mean a
    Spanish
    piece of eight?” said Gail. “It can’t be.”
    “It is that, girl. Eight silver reals, as common as a shilling in those days.”
    Gail said, “It was worth a dollar?”
    “No. What I meant was that it’s from the piece of eight that the dollar sign came. Look here.”
    Treece spread the dust from the black lump and drew in it with his finger. “Spanish accountants used to register pieces of eight like this: a P next to an 8. That got to be a burden, so they shortened it like this.” He drew an 8 and a P together, rubbed out a few lines, and was left with: ..
    “How old is it?” asked Gail.
    “I don’t know. I couldn’t read the date. A couple of hundred years, anyway.”
    “It can’t be!”
    Treece laughed. “Do tell,” he said
    tolerantly. “Where did you find it?”
    Gail said, “We found it on
    Goliath.”
    “Not possible.” Treece paused, then said quietly,
    “Goliath
    went bubbles in 1943. She was carrying no Spanish coins.”
    “Well, that’s