eight o'clock in the evening on October 23, I quitted my cell in
an indefinable state of nervousness, and with a presentiment that a
serious event was imminent. In vain I had tried to seek calmness in
sleep. It was impossible to do so, and I rose and went out.

Outside Back Cup the weather must have been very rough. Violent gusts
of wind swept in through the crater and agitated the water of the
lagoon.

I walked along the shore on the Beehive side. No one was about. It
was rather cold, and the air was damp. The pirates were all snugly
ensconced in their cells, with the exception of one man, who stood
guard over the new passage, notwithstanding that the outer entrance
had been blocked. From where he was this man could not see the lagoon,
moreover there were only two lamps alight, one on each side of
the lake, and the forest of pillars was wrapt in the profoundest
obscurity.

I was walking about in the shadow, when some one passed me.

I saw that he was Thomas Roch.

He was walking slowly, absorbed by his thoughts, his brain at work, as
usual.

Was this not a favorable opportunity to talk to him, to enlighten him
about what he was probably ignorant, namely, the character of the
people into whose hands he had fallen?

"He cannot," I argued, "know that the Count d'Artigas is none other
than Ker Karraje, the pirate. He cannot be aware that he has given up
a part of his invention to such a bandit. I must open his eyes to the
fact that he will never be able to enjoy his millions, that he is a
prisoner in Back Cup, and will never be allowed to leave it, any
more than I shall. Yes, I will make an appeal to his sentiments of
humanity, and point out to him what frightful misfortunes he will be
responsible for if he does not keep the secret of his deflagrator."

All this I had said to myself, and was preparing to carry out my
resolution, when I suddenly felt myself seized from behind.

Two men held me by the arms, and another appeared in front of me.

Before I had time to cry out the man exclaimed in English:

"Hush! not a word! Are you not Simon Hart?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I saw you come out of your cell."

"Who are you, then?"

"Lieutenant Davon, of the British Navy, of H.M.S. _Standard_, which is
stationed at the Bermudas."

Emotion choked me so that it was impossible for me to utter a word.

"We have come to rescue you from Ker Karraje, and also propose to
carry off Thomas Roch," he added.

"Thom