“And now the pearl is lost,” Tefara complained.
“It paid my debt with Toriki. That is twelve hundred I have made, anyway.”
“Toriki is dead,” she cried. “They have heard no word of his schooner. She was lost along with the Aorai and the Hira. Will Toriki pay you the three hundred credit he promised? No, because Toriki is dead. And had you found no pearl, would you today owe Toriki the twelve hundred? No, because Toriki is dead, and you cannot pay dead men.”
“But Levy did not pay Toriki,” Mapuhi said. “He gave him a piece of paper that was good for the money in Papeete; and now Levy is dead and cannot pay; and Toriki is dead and the paper lost with him, and the pearl is lost with Levy. You are right, Tefara. I have lost the pearl, and got nothing for it. Now let us sleep.”
He held up his hand suddenly and listened. From without came a noise, as of one who breathed heavily and with pain. A hand fumbled against the mat that served for a door.
“Who is there?” Mapuhi cried.
“Nauri,” came the answer. “Can you tell me where is my son, Mapuhi?”
Tefara screamed and gripped her husband's arm.
“A ghost!” she chattered. “A ghost!”
Mapuhi's face was a ghastly yellow. He clung weakly to his wife.