I told my mother everything at once. Some of the captain’s money was ours, but his old shipmates would never let us have it. We could not stay alone with the dead man, so we ran out into the foggy evening to get help in the village.
But nobody there would come back with us to the Admiral Benbow. The name of Captain Flint was new to me, but some of the men knew it well, and it filled them with fear. One young man agreed to ride to Dr. Livesey for help, but nobody would help us defend the inn.
Then my mother spoke. “I won’t lose money that belongs to my fatherless boy. If none of you dare, Jim and I dare. We’ll open that chest if we die for it.”
So the two of us went back alone in the cold night, while a full moon rose through the fog. At last the door of the inn closed behind us, and I locked it at once.
My mother lit a candle, and holding hands, we went into the main room. The captain lay on his back, with his eyes open.
“We must get the key from him,” my mother whispered. “But who’s going to touch him?”
I knelt down. On the floor near his hand was a little round piece of paper, black on one side. This had to be the black spot. On the other side were the words: “You have till ten tonight.”
“He had till ten, Mother,” I said, and just then our old clock began to strike. We jumped, but it was only six.
The key was not in his pockets. “Perhaps it’s around his neck,” said my mother.
I opened his shirt, and there it was, hanging on a string. I cut the string with his own knife, and we hurried upstairs to his room, where the chest stood.
A strong smell of tobacco and tar came out when my mother opened it. On top lay a suit of good clothes, and under that all kinds of things: a piece of silver, an old watch, pistols and some strange shells. At the bottom we found a packet of papers wrapped in oilcloth and a bag of gold coins.
“I’ll show these villains that I’m an honest woman,” said my mother. “I’ll take what he owes us, and not a penny more.”
She began to count. It was slow work, because the coins came from many countries, and she only knew how to count the English guineas.
We were about halfway through when I heard a sound that made my heart jump: the tap-tapping of the blind man’s stick on the frozen road. It came nearer and nearer, and we held our breath. It struck the inn door, and we heard the handle turn. There was a long silence. Then the tapping slowly went away.
“Mother,” I said, “take it all and let’s go.” I was sure the locked door would bring the whole gang back.
But my mother would not take more than we were owed, or less. She was still arguing when we heard a low whistle far away on the hill. That was enough for both of us.
“I’ll take what I have,” she said, jumping up.
“And I’ll take this to make up the rest,” I said, and I picked up the packet.
We ran downstairs and out of the house. The fog was lifting, and the moon was bright. Behind us we heard running feet, and we saw a lantern coming closer.
“My dear,” said my mother suddenly, “take the money and run. I’m going to faint.”
I was sure this was the end for both of us. Luckily we were at the little bridge. Somehow I pulled her down the bank and a little way under the bridge, but I could not move her any farther. So there we had to stay, my mother almost in full view, and both of us close enough to hear everything at the inn.