I fell asleep and dreamed that I was chasing those two islanders in an endeavour to find out the meaning of their mysterious chant, but just as I had overtaken the pair, some one gripped my arm and shook me gently.
When I opened my eyes I looked up into the face of a good-looking young fellow of about two and twenty years, who was smiling broadly as if he thought it a great joke to wake a man out of a sound sleep on a hot afternoon.
"Are you Jack Verslun?" he asked.
I nodded. It was too warm to use words recklessly.
"Pierre the Rat sent me after you," he continued.
"Why?" I asked.
"I have a berth for you," he answered. "I'm from The Waif. The mate died on the run down from Sydney, and Captain Newmarch sent me ashore to hunt up some one for his perch. Do you want it?"
"Where are you bound?" I asked.
"Manihiki group."
"What for?"