"It's my belief that he's lying low within a few yards of us," continued his father. "It's an admirable hiding-place, but it's certain that he must have food, so he's bound to make for the cocoanuts and bread-fruit trees sooner or later. That's why he's doubled on his tracks."
"We must double on our tracks before long," replied Andy. "That is, if we don't want to spend a night in this wilderness."
"That's what I intend to do," said his father in a low voice. "I want you two to go back to the house. Make plenty of noise, and grumble at having been unsuccessful. I'm going to remain here."
"Alone?" queried Andy.
"Hist! Don't speak so loud. Yes, alone. You don't imagine I'm afraid to tackle an unarmed man, do you? Now, listen to what I have to say. It will be dark in an hour or so, but the moon will rise at nine o'clock. Make your way here at sunrise to-morrow, and I'll warrant you'll find me safe enough—and not alone, I hope."
Andy knew that it was no good arguing, and the two lads set off towards their home. The blazed track was followed without difficulty, and just as the sun set they emerged from the forest and gained the terrace on which the house stood.
"Where's Mr. McKay?" asked Terence.
"Left behind."
"Left behind? What for? Has anything gone wrong?"
"I hope not. He insisted, so there was no help for it. We've to rejoin him at sunrise to-morrow," replied Andy.