“Then there is Nicky’s uncle, who has the real map,” Tom reminded his chums. “How about him?”
“Let’s tell Cliff’s father first,” Nicky urged. “Then we can do as he says.”
It was agreed that this was the best way out. They found the old scholar sorting some broken bits of pottery. These had been taken out of old mounds of refuse, centuries old, where the Carib Indians had thrown their cast off and broken utensils. Mr. Gray, by reason of his wide experience with such things, and with the help of the young archaeologist, had become proficient at the art of piecing the broken bits into their original places so that many valuable objects were rebuilt, or, at least, reassembled.
After he had heard their story, Mr. Gray deliberated for a while and then he gave them his opinion.
The boys admitted its soundness and decided to act upon it that very evening!
CHAPTER IV
CAPTAIN’S KIDD’S GHOST
Seated around the supper table in the plantation house, the chums could hardly contain their impatience while the colored servant removed the dishes. The abrupt twilight had passed into deep, dark night. A kerosene lamp on the table threw weird shadows on the wall and left uncanny mysteries in the dusky corners.
The table, moved near the window to get the cooler evening breeze during the meal, was finally cleared.
“Do you feel funny?” asked Tom, looking around the room. “Maybe it’s on account of that voodoo stuff this morning, but for some reason I feel kinda nervous.”
“It’s just your mind—your imagination,” laughed Cliff.