Matt halted and gave a glance at Rigolette, who was leaning moodily against the wall.
"Come over here, Dick," said Matt, stepping to one side. When his chum joined him, he lowered his voice so the creole could not hear what was said.
"You remember that smoke picture of Yamousa's—the one you and I saw?"
"Dowse me, mate, if I could ever forget that!"
"What do you think of Yamousa and her smoke pictures, by now?"
"Why, I'm not much of a hand to believe in things like that," replied Dick, slowly, "but that first smoke picture, showing the boat and the chest, with the Hawk overhead and you below—why, that was a dead ringer for what happened. Blow me tight! I'm fair dazed to account for that picture."
"So am I," continued Matt, earnestly, "but this is what I'm trying to get at. If one picture gave a truthful forecast of what was to happen, isn't it possible that the second picture was equally truthful and to be depended on?"
"More than possible, Matt—probable."
"Do you recollect what that second picture was?
"Why, a room with stone walls and a man who looked like Townsend lashed by the hands and feet and lying on the floor!"