Ruth pointed out to Drew exactly where the figure that had so startled her had stood. It was down the slope of the hill to the westward, and directly between two lava boulders at the edge of the jungle.
The figure—man, apparition, what or whoever it was—had lingered in sight but a moment.
Before returning to work in his excavation, Drew went down to the spot Ruth had pointed out. There was not a sign of anybody having been there. The earth between the huge lumps of lava seemed not to have been disturbed. He could find no broken twigs or torn vines at the edge of the jungle.
"She dreamed it—that's all," muttered Drew. "Poor Parmalee!"
He thought of the man whose tragic end was so linked with his own existence—of the body buffeted by the waves somewhere in the blue expanse that stretched easterly from this little island.
Of what use would the pirate treasure, if they found it, be to Allen Drew? This bitter query obsessed him. He would gladly give every coin and jewel Ramon Alvarez had buried here, were it his to give, to see Parmalee, leaning on his cane, walk out of the jungle.
He was so lost in these gloomy musings that he started when he felt a light touch on his arm.
He looked up to find Ruth standing beside him.
"Did you find any trace of him, Allen?" she asked, in a voice from which the tremor had not entirely gone.
"Not the slightest sign," he answered. "The man or thing, whatever it was, seems to have vanished into thin air."