“Ghosts!” he would think, scared to death. But he never ran. A ghost at your back is much more terrible than one you can see. Jack always walked straight toward the ghosts, and always they vanished into thin air.
As he caught the hoarse whisper there on the lonely mysterious island, he thought of those ghosts, and it steadied his mind. He answered the hoarse whisper, then walked straight toward the spot from whence it came. He had gone a dozen paces when a low voice said:
“Don’t come closer.”
Gripping his gun, he stopped.
Out of the brush and the shadows stepped a figure that even in the dim moonlight appeared familiar.
“What are you doing here?” a woman’s voice asked. “How did you come? And why?”
The woman was tall, and rather slender. She wore a broad hat that hid her face.
It’s that slim queen of the island, was Jack’s thought. He had come to think of her as just that, but was astonished to discover that she spoke English fluently.
“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” he countered, taking two steps.
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” came slowly. “It will pay you to stay where you are. I am not alone.”