"Switch on again," continued the former. "Keep behind me. I've got a pocket compass."
Taking a rough bearing of the direction of the distress signal, Villiers began to walk rapidly towards its source of emission, Beverley following a good ten paces behind, and throwing the beam of the Aldis lamp ahead in order to enable Villiers to make his way over the rather rough ground, much of which consisted of "rotten" lava and boulders of various sizes.
Above the moan of the off-shore breeze they could hear the roar of the surf. They had almost gained the other side of the island.
Suddenly Villiers came to a halt. A precipice yawned at his feet. How deep it was he was unable to see until his companion came up with the light.
"Be careful," he cautioned. "The edge is pretty soft. Hand me the lamp and hang on to my feet."
Possessing himself of the Aldis lamp, Villiers lay prone upon the bare ground, while Bobby, hardly able to control his feelings, gripped his companion's ankles.
They were on the edge of a terraced cliff that rose a good eighty feet above a shelving beach. Twenty yards from the base was Dick Beverley.
"You all right, Dick?" shouted his brother.
"All right so far," was the reply. "Ankle's a bit sprained."
"We'll soon be with you," rejoined Bobby reassuringly.