“That’s right,” answered Duval; “you fellows did a good day’s work for yourselves when you knocked me on the head in that hut.”
“Waal, I should say so. Let’s go below and look at that gold again. I kin hardly keep my fingers frum touching it. We’re rich, boys, we’re rich!”
The three worthies disappeared below after Duval had carefully replaced the black pearls in their bag. It was some hours later when they came up again and the ship was passing the Port Ead’s light.
“We’re safe now,” exclaimed Duval in a low tone; “even if they do discover the trick we’ve put up on em, they could never catch us now. In another two hours we’ll be out on the gulf and by to-morrow we’ll be out of reach of any one in Yankeeland.”
“Hulloo, what’s up astern?” asked Zeb suddenly. “What are they all pointing at?”
“Pointing at? What do you mean?” demanded Duval, suspicious as are most guilty consciences of anything unusual.
“Something in the sky. Hark! They are shouting!”
“Something in the sky!”
Duval’s face went white. His knees shook. By a flash of guilty intuition he had guessed what that something was, even if the next minute a shout had not split the air.
“An aëroplane! It’s an aëroplane!”