full lips and a handsome jaw. It was strange to see a man wearing his hair so long.

Ben remembered how Genaro took his fancy at once. There seemed a touch of romance in him; something unusual that appealed to Ben's youth. They rapidly became friends, for there was between them the strong bond of the sea; and when he discovered that Ben needed money and had done some diving, he offered to take him along on his boat. Ben was happy to accept, and he moved his things on board that evening.

Ben found the boat to be a splendid, hundred-foot diesel yacht manned by Japanese, and equipped with full diving apparatus. Genaro occupied two large cabins at the fore end of the yacht, and stepping from the deck into his rooms was like slipping backwards in time. One cabin was filled almost entirely by a magnificent, carved bedstead with a railing around it and with crimson curtains of velvet upon which Apollo was embroidered in gold. Two massive chests stood in one corner clamped by iron bands and with elaborate complex locks. Scattered about were pale-violet vases decorated with silver and gold, figure subjects in porcelain of minute delicacy, and curiously shaped pottery painted with nude hunting scenes and highly colored exotic men.

The other chamber was filled with antique, heavy armed chairs elaborately carved and cushioned with velvet and silk. A silver-mounted ram's head serving as a large snuff box rested on a harpsichord with a double keyboard. There was no electricity. Pale candles burned on oval tables with gracefully twisted legs, and on the walls hung rare paintings and old tapestries woven from designs of Goya, whose rich, warm colors sifted the candlelight and added to the mysterious shadows of this sanctuary of the past.

The celebrated trade winds of the Caribbean had ceased to blow, and a

hush hung over the island as they sailed the next morning. The wood doves sang sadly in the turpentine trees and the harbor was glassy and becalmed.

Genaro showed Ben a map where fifteen Spanish galleons carrying a cargo of raw gold had been wrecked by a tropical hurricane in 1643. The galleons had come to grief near a necklace of atolls about thirty-five miles north of Haiti. Caught in the hurricane, they had scurried for the protection of what seemed to be a sheltered shore, but which was a bank of shoals, and had been wrecked. The spot is well known but attempts to recover the treasure had not been successful. The place is deep and there are sharks.

They arrived at the atolls towards afternoon and slowly maneuvered over the area. The anchor plowed into the sea, and they made Genaro ready for the first dive. Ben had a last word with him, then he stepped off the ladder and disappeared in an eruption of bubbles.

There was no sound, only the soft "tunk tunk" of the air compressor pumping air into Genaro's helmet descending somewhere below. The Japanese sailors crouched on their heels watching Genaro's lines; their faces expressionless. After a time, Genaro called on the phone. His voice, hollow and vibrating, seemed to come from a great distance. He had found a hull, had almost dropped right on one. The water was deep. He did not stay down long. Greatly delighted over his find, he planned to go down the next day and break into the ship. He was sure it was a galleon.

What Genaro was going to do was hazardous, for wrecks are rotted and may collapse under a kick or push. The depth of the water made it difficult for him to work. Tricky currents in the water could sweep a diver to his death. And there were

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