Having hauled into position two boxes of ammunition—­for which he had scooped out a special receptacle—­the invaluable water-kegs from the stranded boat, several tins of biscuits and all the tinned meats, together with three bottles of wine and two of brandy, he hastily abandoned the ledge and busied himself with fitting a number of gun-locks to heavy faggots.

Iris watched his proceedings in silence for some time.  At last the interval for luncheon enabled her to demand an explanation.

“If you don’t tell me at once what you intend to do with those strange implements,” she said, “I will form myself into an amalgamated engineer and come out on strike.”

“If you do,” he answered, “you will create a precedent.  There is no recorded case of a laborer claiming what he calls his rights when his life is at stake.  Even an American tramp has been known to work like a fiend under that condition.”

“Simply because an American tramp tries, like every other mere male, to be logical.  A woman is more heroic.  I once read of a French lady being killed during an earthquake because she insisted on going into a falling house to rescue that portion of her hair which usually rested on the dressing-table whilst she was asleep.”

“I happen to know,” he said, “that you are personally unqualified to emulate her example.”

She laughed merrily, so lightly did yesterday’s adventure sit upon her.  The allusion to her disheveled state when they were thrown ashore by the typhoon simply impressed her as amusing.  Thus quickly had she become inured to the strange circumstances of a new life.

“I withdraw the threat and substitute a more genuine plea—­curiosity,” she cried.

“Then you will be gratified promptly.  These are our sentinels.  Come with me to allot his post to the most distant one.”

He picked up a faggot with its queer attachment, shouldered a Lee-Metford, and smiled when he saw the business-like air with which Iris slung a revolver around her waist.

They walked rapidly to Smugglers’ Cove, and the girl soon perceived the ingenuity of his automatic signal.  He securely bound the block of wood to a tree where it was hidden by the undergrowth.  Breaking the bullet out of a cartridge, he placed the blank charge in position in front of the striker, the case being firmly clasped by a bent nail.  To the trigger, the spring of which he had eased to a slight pressure, he attached a piece of unraveled rope, and this he carefully trained among the trees at a height of six inches from the ground, using as carriers nails driven into the trunks.  The ultimate result was that a mere swish of Iris’s dress against the taut cord exploded the cartridge.

“There!” he exclaimed, exultantly.  “When I have driven stakes into the sand to the water’s edge on both sides of the cove, I will defy them to land by night without giving us warning.”

“Do you know,” said Iris, in all seriousness, “I think you are the cleverest man in the world.”