In the bay beyond, Claverhouse found exactly what he wanted. The ground shelved gradually to the water's edge. The beach was sandy and free from jagged lumps of coral. There was a good depth of water close to the shore, while the reef was not only within two hundred yards of the island, but was in several places a good six feet above high-water mark.
"I thought coral insects always died when they'd worked their way to the surface," remarked Dick. "How is it that this part of the reef sticks up so?"
"I think if we landed there we'd find volcanic rocks," replied Claverhouse. "Small islands each with a ring of coral round them; subsiding reefs, as it were. 'Tany rate, this is an ideal sea-plane base. I'll get some hands to work as soon as possible, so I'll get back to the landing place. You'll carry on?"
Dick slapped the "small" of his rifle.
"I've got to work for my living," he rejoined facetiously, "so I'll get a move on. See you later."
Claverhouse made his way to the beach opposite the Titania's berth, where already a light pier was in course of construction, and crates and boxes were piled high awaiting a place for storage.
"You're handy fellows with an axe," he exclaimed, addressing Griffiths and Bell.
"Never handled an axe in my life," declared Griffiths.
"And when I did I cut a slice out of my boot," Bell hastened to assure the director of the day's destiny.
"Call yourselves ex-Royal Engineers?" remarked Claverhouse, with assumed scorn. "You've seen Tommies wielding axes, so come and do likewise."