"And a meagre one at that," replied Gilbert, sitting on the edge of the boat. "And after that a council of war, and a decision as to what is to be done."
"You're not the only one that's awake early, my friend," said Simon Quarle, pointing in the direction of the north of the island. "Who's that coming in the distance?"
"It looks like Pringle," said Gilbert—"and he's carrying something."
They waited while the unconscious Pringle drew nearer. As a matter of fact he was staggering under a load poised upon his shoulders; as he came within hail of them it seemed that the load was a heavy square packing-case. Evidently he had not expected anyone to be awake at that hour; as he trudged through the sand he was humming a jaunty tune jerkily to himself as though to encourage himself in his efforts. Being hailed suddenly by the deep voice of Simon Quarle, he stopped, and stared, and then let the packing-case down plump into the sand. And it must be confessed that at that moment he wore a curiously guilty air.
"Why—what have you got there, Pringle?" demanded Gilbert, advancing towards him. "Where did you get that from?"
"This, sir," asked the innocent Pringle. "Oh—this, sir? Washed ashore, sir."
"Washed ashore!" exclaimed Simon Quarle, looking at the case curiously. "Do you know what's in it?"
"Not the least notion in the world, sir," said Pringle, sitting upon the case, and looking down at it between his legs. "Out for an early morning stroll, sir, there it was, knockin' about just on the shore; in fact while I was lookin' at it—stupid like, you'll understand, sir—the sea give it a shove, and pushed it up at my very feet. I shouldn't be surprised, sir, if it didn't hold food."
"Do you think it's come from the yacht?" asked Gilbert.