A quantity of driftwood had been brought in the canoes from a previous camping-place, and with this a small fire was built. In its cheerful flickering glow they fell asleep, and an hour later a faint gleam from the charred embers was all that relieved the darkness of the cavern.
When Sir Arthur Ashby turned uneasily on his rugs some time afterward, even this feeble light was gone. The ex-governor was consumed with a burning thirst. He had an undeniable craving for champagne and iced claret, but in the unavoidable absence of these drinks water would have to do.
As he sat up, a faint noise reached his ears from the direction of the canoes, and supposing it to be Canaris, who had performed similar favors for him before, he called out loudly:
“My good fellow, fetch me a drink, will you? I’m deucedly dry.”
The noise instantly ceased and was not repeated, though Sir Arthur waited breathlessly for a full minute.
Once he fancied he heard a slight rippling of water, but that, too, ceased at once.
Then Sir Arthur uttered a loud shout, which speedily wakened his companions.
“What’s wrong?” cried the colonel anxiously. “Did some one call? I surely heard a noise.”
“I want a drink, that’s all,” said Sir Arthur. “I heard someone down at the canoes and supposed it was Canaris. Was it you, Carrington?”
“No, certainly not,” exclaimed the colonel, now thoroughly awake. “Here, Chutney, Forbes, pass me a match, quick. I have none about me.”