Kingdom pointed impatiently to two small specks upon the horizon.
"They're there," he said.
"Maybe some liner has come across her and left a bit crew on board her," continued the fertile Mr. Angus.
"If so, we'd have seen the liner," replied Kingdom irritably.
He took up his binoculars and began to scrutinise the Orinoco, which had altered her course a few points in their direction.
Mr. Angus had a fresh inspiration.
"Did ye mind tae wauken Walsh?" he whispered. "If not, ye ken he micht weel—"
The captain lowered his glasses, and nodded.
"He might be one," he agreed; "but there are four men on deck." He raised his binoculars again. "Yes, there they are. Well, whoever they are and whatever the game is, we must get on board again and do the job properly this time.—Hallo, one of them is running below!—Here he is again!—He's carrying something—flags, I reckon. They're going to signal us."
He was right. Up to the topmost summit of the Orinoco's grimy foremast travelled a signal—a banner with a strange device indeed, but conveying a perfectly intelligible message for all that. It consisted of the nether or unmentionable portion of a ragged suit of orange-and-red striped pyjamas.