 And now, tonight's presentation of Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills. Suspense. Telling you a transcribed story about buried treasure and a curse. We call it the Treasure Chest of Don Jose. So now, starring Mr. Edgar Berrier, here is tonight's suspense play, The Treasure Chest of Don Jose. This is not a pretty story. There is blood in it, the blood of men and women. There is a curse in it and gold. But it is a funny story. It is a joke. A great joke that I cannot laugh at. It is a joke on me. In matters of this sort, secrecy is of the utmost importance. In matters of this sort, no man is your friend. Once I had a friend, we lived together in my little house on Black K, down in the Gulf of Mexico. But then the hurricane struck and everything was different. The wind blew for two nights and a day. And when the waves piled up on the quay and swept away the house, it was my friend, Pedro, who dragged me away unconscious and lashed me to a ringboat on our little dock and saved my life. Next day, the sun was shining again, but there was nothing left on my little island. The splintered planks that once had been the house of my father were scattered among the stripped palm trees. And even the big chimney that was built by my great-grandfather was a pile of broken bricks. There was nothing but blue sea and bright sun and heaviness in my heart. Yesh, even the chimney. Eh, what would you expect from such a wind? Eh, my friend. So now alas, the curse of the Gasparillas has fallen on you, huh? Yes, yes, you speak foolishness. Was a hurricane? Eh, yes. So it was, but a hurricane sent especially to destroy youth. Eh, you cannot believe that silly tale. Did not your father perish from a boat of lightning that struck him from a cloudless sky? The doctor said it was a heart attack. And your grandfather, was he not pulled into the sea by a giant octopus? He was washed overboard during his squalor. And all the curse of his father, Don Jose, the king of the pirates, and the curse put upon him and all the Gasparillas by the beautiful Don yo' Magarita, who preferred death? Eh, you fettled like a schoolboy. You have never been one day to school. Ah, come. You'll clear up this mess and build the house over again. You should know that I endured a certain local notoriety since I bore the same name and was the great, great grandson of Don Jose Gasparilla, one of the last and one of the fiercest of the pirates of the Spanish man. This was of much less interest and concern to me than it was to my friends and acquaintances among the Florida keys. Neither my father nor his father before him had ever profited by a single doubloon from the legendary treasure of our pirate forebear. And as to the curse pronounced on Don Jose by the proud and virtuous Don yo' Magarita, I gave it as little credence as I did the recurrent tales of Gasparilla's very treasure. But that was before Pedro and I set about cleaning up the hurricane's mess. We were stacking brick from the demolished chimney when Pedro made a discovery. Hola, Jose. Look at this, eh? What is it? Eh, seems to be a box, a little iron box, the size and shape of a brick. Eh, let me see it. There was a lock, but it's rusted away. Hand me that pinch guard, see? Here. Hey! These are paper inside, eh? Yes, this is very old. What does it say, Jose? Eh? Oh, nothing. It is just an old paper. See, see, I know, but what does it say? It is a nursery rhyme my father copied for me when I was a little boy. Yeah, but what is he doing in this old iron box, eh? Yeah, I must have hidden it away once when I was playing. Here, amigo. Shall we get back to work? It was a lucky thing Pedro could not read. That was no necessary rhyme. That rotting parchment said, On Doug Buddies Island you could fare worse If dare you will, don Jose's curse. For there, three and thirty yards south-south-east of the rocky guards, you will find a pleasantly fulsome measure of Gasparia's earthly treasure. There could be no question about it. Here was at last a tangible clue to the hidden gold of my ancestor. It was mine if I could find it. Why should I share it with anyone, even Pedro? I was a rightful heir and I would claim it all. So that night I took our only boat and rode to the mainland. I spent two days in the public library in Key West searching the old charts before I found Doug Buddies Island. It was a tiny sense bit near the tip of Cape Cod. It was perfect, my little rented cottage on the beach. Quiet, secluded, and yet within view of that rocky point which must be the same one, don Jose, called the rocky guards. There was a stack of firewood beside the kitchen door and in a shed back of the house there was even a long-handed shovel, a most fortunate circumstance, since I did not want to create any suspicion in the town by purchasing one. Now I can tell you, I scarcely slept that first night. So great was my eagerness to be up in the morning to pace the three and thirty yards south-south-east of the rocky guards and begin digging for my passion. Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two. Morning. Oh, good morning. Looks like it's gonna be a nice day. Yes, yes it does. Wanna do some digging? Hey, big old father. I see you've got a shovel. Looks like you're gonna do some digging. Oh, yes, clums, I am going to dig for clums. No clams in the surf. Oh, is that out? No, find them on the bay side. Then I will look over there. Don't dig them with a shovel. Gotta use a rake. Oh, is that so? Too late now anyway. Tide's coming in. Another low tide at five this afternoon. I didn't know. I am a stranger here. I know. Heard you'd rented the Davis place. I'm Chief of Police on Queen Casset. Oh, anything wrong? No, town limits come all the way out here, though, but I'll tell you. All the way to the low tide mark. Gotta better come out here and warn you. What about me? How about what? Eh, you see that patch of sand yonder beyond the Grand Barbarian? Yes. Quick sand, treacherous. Oh, thank you. Eh, wanna stay here long? Well, I don't know. Eight to weeks. Maybe all winter. You, uh, a writing fella? No, no. Painting fella? No. Ah, just taking a vacation. Yes, you might call it that. It's me. Well, nice to have this talk with you. Anything you need in the way of police protection, sir? Let me know. He couldn't know. How could he know? Nobody knew about the treasure clue but me. Yet he seemed so suspicious. He asked me so many questions. I went back to the house, sat at the window until he was out of sight at the beach. But by that time, the tide had come in and the treasure was buried by the ocean. So I waited until five o'clock when the tide was low. And then carrying a gasoline lantern, I paced off the 33 yards south southeast of the Rocky Guards and set to work. It was clear now I would have to work fast and at night, but there was no way of knowing who might drop in on my operations during the daytime. I waited until an hour after sundown, and then carrying a gasoline lantern, I returned to the hole, found my shovel in the grass and set to work. Although the evening was chilled with a brisk breeze blowing in from the sea, I soon shed my coat and was dripping with perspiration. I lost track of time, place and my own identity. I was a machine attacking the wet sliding sand with huge bites of my shovel, widening the hole as it grew deeper until my lantern threw long shadows across the opening that had become large enough for a coffee. Then my shovel hit something solid. I reached for my lantern and there under its lifeless green glare was a section of rotting wood. I shoveled the wet sand to one side. There was a rusted iron strap. I had found it. An iron bound chest. The treasure chest of Don José Gasparilla. It was almost too much to bear. Suddenly my dampened shirt killed me. I was seized with a fit of chivalry. Then I began crying like a child. How long I crouched there in this agony of relief and joy that I cannot tell. But suddenly, above the sound of my own sobs, a pounding saft, a sang wind, I heard voices. A little light out this way. Around here somewhere is the house. Terracies. Who came now to violate my supreme modernity? Who now threatened to deprive me of what was rightfully mine? My tender lantern now scrambled from the hole. And a few yards away I could see the beam of a flashlight slowly approaching. I ran and hid behind a ledge of rocks. My heart drumming in my ears. My held breath screaming in my tightened throat. Trying to listen. Trying to see. You've got to be around here. Hey, what's the matter? Nearly fell in the hole. Look, this'll do great. It's even a shovel to fill it up. All right, ready? Yeah. One, two, three. What were they doing? Did they know? At last it was quiet. And I watched their light as they made their way across the island toward the bay. Then after a time I heard the call for their motor boat. Still I waited until the sound of the receding motor was lost in the sighing wind in the hiss of the nearby surf. Then I lit my lantern and went back to my digging. The hole was half filled. And suddenly my terror turned to rage. What had they done? I began digging savagely. Almost at once my shovel hit something. Something that was softer than the chest and yielded to the pressure. I seized my lantern, crouched over for a closer examination and found myself looking into the vacantly staring eyes of a corpse. Sometime thought dawn I must have fallen asleep. But the next thing I knew it was past noon and somebody was pounding on my door. Hey, anybody home? Just a minute. I'm coming. Oh, it's you, Chief. Good morning. Afternoon, now. I'm sorry I was sleeping. Thought you was dead. Dead? Took long enough to wake in you. Excuse me, I had insomnia most of the night. Insomnia? Mean you was awake? Yes. Most of the night, you say? Yes. Do you hear anything peculiar out here? No, no. Why, what do you mean? Why would anyone be pounding out here? Didn't say there was. Asked if you heard anyone. No, no, I didn't. Got to check. This being in the town limit. Why, is anything the matter? No. Kidnapping. Murder, maybe. Murder? No. And you heard it on the radio? I hadn't got the radio. Sure. Great consolation for a man living alone. Well, what happened? Tell me. Young Harvard fellow, sinful rich, his father paid the ransom, $20,000. But the kidnappers didn't deliver the boy. Got a three-state alarm out for them. Think they're on the cape somewhere. Just checking. What makes you think they'd come out here? Oh, I don't know. Hunch partly. Partly because somebody borrowed one of Jen Chantry's boats last night. Found a blood stain in the cockpit this morning. Didn't see him, eh? I told you I did. Ah, so you did. Eh, we'll catch them, of course, if they're on the cape. Sooner or later, we'll catch them. Ransom money's in small bills, all marked. You'll get hungry sooner or later and spend some. Besides, we've got a pretty good description of them. Ah, let me know if you see or hear anything. Yes, yes, of course, I'd be glad to. You know, just checking. Now there was no time to lose. I had already missed one low tide. I had to get my gold and get away from this island of suspicion and death. I waited until five o'clock and then returned to my diggings. The low scudding clouds packed the sand with sudden gusts of icy rain. There was little likelihood I would have unwelcome visitors on such a forbidding evening. I quickly disinterred the body from my treasure hole. Unquestionably, he was the kidnapped victim, a young man dressed in the flannel slacks and saddle shoes of a college boy. I dragged him to one side out of sight behind some rocks where I couldn't see his empty death stare. Then I went back to my digging. By seven o'clock I had uncovered the chest and was prepared to lift it out of its grave. The curse, oh no, no curse. For here was the treasure and it was mine. Want me to give you a hand with that? What? He wants to know you need a hand with that. Who are you? What are you doing here, Tom? How did you get here? Low tide, we walked. Oh, Pop, find somebody. Help Pop out of the hole. Come on, Pop. All right, where is he? What? The kid's body is gone, he got rid of it. Get him out of there. Okay, Pop. Come on. Let me go! Please, let me go! Where is he, Pop? What did you do with him? Who? Where's the kid? He's there. Hey, put him there. Dave? Yeah. What are you trying to do, Pop? Why'd you move on? What was he trying to do? He was here to... Was, was what? Yeah. No, no, no. Don't. That way you moved him, Pop, to get to the bottom. Please, give me a hand with this. Leave it alone. It's his mind. Don't touch it. Shut up. Here. See? What do you got, Pop? Treasure? Very treasure? All right. Maybe that's just what it is. Let's get it out of there. Leave it alone! Leave it alone! I told you to shut up. All right, Steve. Let's get it out of there. It wasn't mine. Not while these two bandits stood over me. At gunpoint, they forced me to help them carry it to the house. My treasure. It was mine. Nobody must take it from me now. I must find a way to rescue it. When we got inside the house, they forced open the chest and emptied one of the canvas sacks. It's contents cascading onto the table in a golden stream of doubloon. Well, what do you know? Gold. It is mine. It belongs to me. It is my inheritance. Yeah, yeah, I know, Pop. Only you're going to pay a high inheritance tax. A hundred percent. Hey, Steve, I nearly forgot one. Him. Who? Him out there. What about? Get him in here. Come on. Can't we just umber back in a hole? I've got a better idea. Get him in here. Carry him in. Carry him for what? The rain will wash away any tracks in the sand. Carry him. I don't want to take any chances. Where do we store the two of us? Hey, watching my beautiful gold. My mouth poached. I thought scarcely beating. The one called Jeff standing by the door his gun pointed at me. Then in a moment we bought four. A one called Steve was back with the death stiff in the body. Put him in the closet. Yeah. Okay now, Pop. I'll tell you what we're going to do. My friend and me are in a little trouble. And you're going to give us a hand, aren't you, Pop? I thought you were talking about. Go, go away. Leave me alone. That's just what we're going to do. We're going to leave. And we're going to take that bright, shiny stuff with us. The treasure is mine to be fair. Yeah, we're going to be fair. We're going to give you $20,000 in nice, up-to-date American money. How do we know? Maybe that junk of yours ain't worth half that much. If money is marked, I know it's ransom money. That's the point. This dough of yours won't work in any cigarette machine, you know. We're going to have to go to a lot of trouble to cash it. What's that? A window blew open. It's raining like crazy outside. We better get started. No, no, no. I won't let you. No, take it easy, old man. You got no complaints. You're 20 grand ahead of the game. What? Come on, come on. Let's get out of here. Grab the end of that chair. We're getting something. What? The sack's on the table. Oh, yeah. Here's one for you. Super there. Come on, we've got to get this thing across the sand spit before the tide comes in. Okay. So long time. Oh, no. Right vision. They were gone. Walking slowly across the dunes with that heavy burden. I watched them unaware of the sheets of rain driving through the open door of the cottage. Unaware that the house itself was shuddering from the impact of the storm. Unaware that the wind had shifted from northeast to southeast. And suddenly I became conscious of my great danger. The thin-brained cottage was creaking and shaking from the relentless wind. And the sound of the storm had a familiar tone. A tone I had heard once before. Then I realized that the wind had shifted. I realized that this was no ordinary storm. This was a hurricane. Down behind the shoulder of a high dune I stumbled and fell, spread eagle down the sand. And suddenly the wind stopped. The rain stopped. There was the calm of death. It was the center of the hurricane. The eye. The moment of respite before the final fury of the storm. And I remembered the curse and wished aloud for its fulfillment. There was no sound but the booming of the furious surf. And then there seemed to be a distant human cry. And I looked toward the rocky guards. Far away in the distance, for an instant, I could see the tiny struggling figures of my tormentors. And then a giant wave crashed down on them. And they, on the spit, disappeared in boiling, angry water. And the wet heavens descended again, held upon me by the tail. There awoke with a light in my eyes. A light brighter, bigger, closer than the sun. And I heard a voice. You all right, Mr. Gaspar? Hey, who, who, who? It's me, Trish Weatherby. Got out here as soon as it could. Oh, we was worried about you out here with no radio. You couldn't get the storm warnings. It come up so fast, wasn't time to get you off. That's, that's just very kind of you. Lucky you got out of the house. Why? Ain't there no more? Ocean come plunge through, carried the house right out into the bay. Made two islands out of sprayed spit. But the house is gone. Oh, not a stick of it left. Ten foot channel where it stood. Storms play funny tricks. That kidnapping I told you about. Yes? What about it? Found three bodies out near those rocks. The kidnappers and the victim. What do you know about that? Nothing. Nothing at all. It is a very funny story, no? But I cannot laugh. The joke is on me. You don't believe me? Look, here is the gold doubloon. All that is left of the treasure chest of Don Jose. Okay. Yet I know this to be true. There is a treasure. I saw it. Held it. And that treasure still exists. Only now there is no map. But I can tell you, in the rocky surf near the two islands called Sprig Spit, if you will dare the curse, is the treasure chest of Don Jose. Spence. In which Mr. Edgar Berrier presents the presentation of the treasure chest of Don Jose.