He thought of the white framework of a once powerful man, lying there among the bushes, abandoned, forgotten, horrific. Then he smothered a cry of surprise.
"By Jove!" he muttered. "There is no 'X' and dot. That sign is meant for a skull and cross-bones. It lies exactly on the part of the island where we saw that queer-looking bald patch today. First thing tomorrow, before the girl awakes, I must examine that place."
He resolutely stretched himself on his share of the spread-out coats, now thoroughly dried by sun and fire. In a minute he was sound asleep.
CHAPTER V
IRIS TO THE RESCUE
"Before mine eyes in opposition sits
Grim death."
—Milton.