“Broad daylight,” said Stobell, huskily.  “But how did they know?”

“Somebody has been talking,” said Tredgold, in a hard voice.  “Somebody has been confiding in that honest, open-hearted sailor, Captain Brisket.”

He turned as he spoke and gazed fixedly at the open-mouthed Chalk.  In a slower fashion, but with no less venom, Mr. Stobell also bent his regards upon that amiable but erring man.

Mr. Chalk returned their gaze with something like defiance.  Half an hour before he had expected to have been killed and eaten.  He had passed a night of horror, expecting death every minute.  Now he exulted in the blue sky, the line of white breakers crashing on the reef, and the sea sparkling in the sunshine; and he had not spent twenty-five years with Mrs. Chalk without acquiring some skill in the noble art of self-defence.

“Ah, Brisket was trying to pump me a week ago,” he said, confidentially.  “I see it all now.”

The others glared at him luridly.

“He said that he had seen us through the skylight studying a paper,” continued Mr. Chalk, shaking his head.  “I thought at the time you were rather rash, Tredgold.”

Mr. Tredgold choked and, meeting the fault-finding eye of Mr. Stobell, began to protest.

“The thing Brisket couldn’t understand,” said Chalk, gaining confidence as he proceeded,” was Stobell’s behaviour.  He said that he couldn’t believe that a man who grumbled at the sea so much as he did could be sailing for pleasure.”

Mr. Stobell glowered fiercely.  “Why didn’t you tell us before?” he demanded.

“I didn’t attach any importance to it,” said Mr. Chalk, truthfully.  “I thought that it was just curiosity on Brisket’s part.  It surprised me that he had been observing you and Tredgold so closely; that was all.”

“Pity you didn’t tell us,” exclaimed Tredgold, harshly.  “We might have been prepared, then.”

“You ought to have told us at once,” said Stobell.

Mr. Chalk agreed.  “I ought to have done so, perhaps,” he said, slowly; “only I was afraid of hurting your feelings.  As it is, we must make the best of it.  It is no good grumbling at each other.

“If I had had the map instead of Tredgold, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It was a crazy idea to keep it in your coat-pocket,” said Stobell, scowling at Tredgold.  “No doubt Brisket saw you put it back there the other night, guessed what it was, and laid his plans according.”

“If it hadn’t been for your grumbling it wouldn’t have happened,” retorted Tredgold, hotly.  “That’s what roused his suspicions in the first instance.”

Mr. Chalk interposed.  “It is no good you two quarrelling about it,” he said, with kindly severity.  “The mischief is done.  Bear a hand with these stores, and then help me to fix the tent up again.”

The others hesitated, and then without a word Mr. Stobell worked one of the casks out of the boat and began to roll it up the beach.  The tent still lay where it had fallen, but the case of spades had disappeared.  They raised the tent again and carried in the stores, after which Mr. Chalk, with the air of an old campaigner, made a small fire and prepared breakfast.