"Look!" he jerked out. "No, not there—right here—close in—just outside of the reef!"
I looked and saw what he saw. A short quarter of a mile to the southeastward, with no lights showing and with her slowly turning engines making no sound that we could hear, a ship, ghostly white and shadowy in the curious light, was creeping, phantom-like, toward the south shore of the island. It was the Andromeda.
XIII
THE WIND AND THE WAVES ROARING
Most naturally, the reappearance of the yacht, at a moment when we had practically worked our way around to the conclusion that it was extremely doubtful if we should ever see her again, quickly put the reasoned deductions to flight. But a second glance threw all the hopeful machinery violently into the reverse. The Andromeda's stealthy approach with all lights hidden, and the evident intention on the part of whoever was in command to make land on the side of the island farthest removed from the place of our debarkation, gave no promise of rescue.
"The gold!" I exclaimed; and the two words collided with Van Dyck's: "They are coming back after it!"
"But hold on," I interjected. "Your gold is gone, and they don't know—can't know—anything about the Spanish treasure. If it's buried treasure they're coming after, somebody on board the yacht has the wrong tip, to a dead moral certainty."
Van Dyck made a gesture like a man groping in the dark.
"There were the sand-filled boxes," he offered. "They've opened them. They know that the gold has been unshipped somewhere, and I suppose it wasn't impossible for them to find out that the yacht made a flying trip to this island after the greater part of the crew had been given shore leave at Willemstadt."