with her unreflective mood and leave the dreadful
truth to its own evil time. In their little nook the power of the sun
had not yet made itself felt. By ordinary computation it was about nine
o'clock. Long before noon they would be grilling. Throughout the next
few hours they must suffer the torture of Dives with one meager pint of
water to share between them. Of course the wine and spirit must be
shunned like a pestilence. To touch either under such conditions would
be courting heat, apoplexy, and death. And next day!

He tightened his jaws before he answered--

"We will console ourselves with a bottle of champagne for dinner.
Meanwhile, I hear our friends shouting to those left on this side of
the island. I must take an active interest in the conversation."

He grasped a rifle and lay down on the ledge, already gratefully warm.
There was a good deal of sustained shouting going on. Jenks thought he
recognized the chief's voice, giving instructions to those who had come
from Smugglers' Cove and were now standing on the beach near the
quarry.

"I wonder if he is hungry," he thought. "If so, I will interfere with
the commissariat."

Iris peeped forth at him.

"Mr. Jenks!"

"Yes," without turning his head. He knew it was an ordinary question.

"May I come too?"

"What! expose yourself on the ledge!"

"Yes, even that. I am so tired of sitting here alone."

"Well, there is no danger at present. But they might chance to see you,
and you remember what I--"

"Yes, I remember quite well. If that is all--" There was a rustle of
garments. "I am very mannish in appearance. If you promise not to look
at me I will join you."

"I promise."

Iris stepped forth. She was flushed a little, and, to cover her
confusion, may be, she picked up a Lee-Metford.

"Now there are two guns," she said, as she stood near him.

He could see through the tail of his eye that a slight but elegantly
proportioned young gentleman of the sea-faring profession had suddenly
appeared from nowhere. He was glad she had taken this course. It might
better the position were the Dyaks to see her thus.

"The moment I tell you, you must fall flat," he warned her. "No
ceremony about it. Just flop!"

"I don't know anything better calculated to make one flop than a
bullet," she laughed. Not yet did the tragedy of the broken kegs appeal
to her.

"Yes, but it achieves its purpose in two ways. I want you to adopt the
precautionary method."

"Trust