To Mr. Chalk it seemed as though the night would never end.  A dozen times he sprang to his feet and gazed fearfully into the darkness, and a dozen times at least he reminded the silent Stobell of the folly of throwing other people’s guns away.  Day broke at last and showed him Tredgold in a tattered shirt and a pair of trousers, and Stobell sitting close by sound asleep.

“We must try and signal to the ship,” he said, in a hoarse whisper.  “It’s our only chance.”

Tredgold nodded assent and shook Stobell quietly.  The silence was oppressive.  They rose and peered out to sea, and a loud exclamation broke from all three.  The “Fair Emily” had disappeared.

[Illustration:  “The ‘Fair Emily’ had disappeared.”]

Stobell rubbed his eyes and swore softly; Tredgold and Chalk stood gazing in blank dismay at the unbroken expanse of shining sea.

“The savages must have surprised them,” said the latter, in trembling tones.  “That’s why they left us alone.”

“Or else they heard the noise ashore and put to sea,” said Tredgold.

They stood gazing at each other in consternation.  Then Stobell, who had been looking about him, gave vent to an astonished grunt and pointed to a boat drawn upon the beach nearly abreast of where their tent had been.

“Some of the crew have escaped ashore,” said Mr. Chalk.

Striking inland, so as to get the shelter of the trees, they made their way cautiously towards the boat.  Colour was lent to Mr. Chalk’s surmise by the fact that it was fairly well laden with stores.  As they got near they saw a couple of small casks which he thought contained water, an untidy pile of tinned provisions, and two or three bags of biscuit.  The closest search failed to reveal any signs of men, and plucking up courage they walked boldly down to the boat and stood gazing stupidly at its contents.

The firearms which Stobell had pitched out of the tent the night before lay in the bottom, together with boxes of cartridges from the cabin, a couple of axes, and a pile of clothing, from the top of which Mr. Tredgold, with a sharp exclamation, snatched a somewhat torn coat and waistcoat.  From the former he drew out a bulky pocketbook, and, opening it with trembling fingers, hastily inspected the contents.

“The map has gone!” he shouted.

The others stared at him.

“Brisket has gone off with the ship,” he continued, with desperate calmness.  “It was the crew of our own schooner that frightened us off last night.”

Mr. Stobell, still staring in a stony fashion, nodded slowly; Mr. Chalk after an effort found his voice.

“They’ve gone off with the treasure,” he said, slowly.

“Also,” continued Tredgold,” this is not Bowers’s Island.  I can see it all now.  They’ve only taken the map, and now they’re off to the real island to get the treasure.  It’s as clear as daylight.”