Gold meant nothing to him. To serve Tom Swift was his
whole aim in life. Born in a savage country, he had not acquired
an overwhelming desire for wealth.
Consequently he was cool enough as he tore another box from the
many that were fitted into the safe. The water had swelled the
wood, and it was not easy to get them out.
A pressure of the giant's iron bar broke the sealed lid. On top
was the same layer of gold pieces, but when the box was emptied
the same trick was discovered. Iron disks made up the remainder
of the contents.
"Bilked! That's what I call it! Regularly bilked!" exclaimed
one of the divers, an Englishman who had been in Tom's service
several years. "Somebody's got the cream of this pudding before
we did!"
"I'm inclined to agree with you," said Tom. "Unless it
transpires that not all the boxes have been thus camouflaged. We
must take time to examine."
Then began a period of hard work. Laboring in relays of divers,
every box that had been locked in the purser's safe was brought
out on the submerged cabin table, broken open, and the contents
examined.
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