The habitation among the branches of the tree had escaped the general devastation, thanks to the dense foliage of the mangrove, which almost concealed it from view. The door giving access to the winding staircase inside the trunk bore no marks of violence. Frank found it shut, and wrenched at it so that the lock-bolt came away.
In a few moments they had all climbed up the staircase, lighted by narrow loopholes in the tree, and set foot on the circular balcony, which was almost completely screened behind a curtain of leaves.
The instant Fritz and Frank reached the platform they hurried into the first room.
Neither this room nor the rooms next it presented the least sign of disturbance. The bedding was all in good condition, the furniture all in place. So it was obvious that the original Falcon’s nest had been respected. The marauders could not have found the door below. The foliage had become so very much thicker in the course of these twelve years that it would have been as impossible to see the dwelling from the yard below as it was from the edge of the neighbouring wood.
It really looked as if Mme. Zermatt and Mrs. Wolston had set everything in order only the day before. There were preserved meat, flour, rice, preserves, and liquor, enough of everything to last for a week, in accordance with the usual custom observed at Falconhurst as at the other farms.
Nobody now, of course, gave a thought to the question of food. What occupied their minds to the exclusion of all else, filling them with despair, was the deserted condition of Falconhurst in the height of the summer, and the pillage of the lower dwelling.
Directly they returned to the balcony Fritz and the boatswain clambered up to the top of the mangrove tree, to get as wide a view as possible.
To north ran the line of coast bounded by False Hope Point at the little hill where the villa of Prospect Hill stood. Nothing suspicious could be detected in this part of the district.
To west, beyond the canal connecting Jackal River with Swan Lake, spread the country watered by the little Falconhurst river, through which Fritz and his companions had walked after they had crossed the bridge. This was as deserted as the country which ran still further to the west as far as the defile of Cluse.
To east, the vast arm of the sea spread out between False Hope Point and Cape East, behind which lay Unicorn Bay. There was not a sail to be seen at sea, not a boat along the shore. Nothing was visible but the vast plain of water, from which, to north-east, projected, the reef upon which the Landlord had struck long ago.