class="pnext">'That's true as gospel, sir, but it came into my mind, like, that where there 's a mast there 's a hull, and p'r'aps it 'll give us a doss-house for the night.'

'It 'll be choked with sand. Still, we 'll have a look at it.'

They walked towards the spot where four or five feet of a jagged mast stood up apparently from the embedding sand. As they emerged from the surrounding bushes they discovered parts of the bulwarks projecting a few inches above a mound of silted-up sand, a little higher than their heads. Clambering up the easiest slope, and stepping over the rotting woodwork, Trentham gave a low whistle of surprise.

'Come up and have a look at this, Meek,' he said to the man standing in his bent-kneed attitude below.

'COME UP AND HAVE A LOOK AT THIS, MEEK.'

Meek came to his side, and drew his fingers through his thin whiskers as he contemplated the scene before him. Then he turned his eyes on Trentham, and from him to the cliffs and the beach around.

'Rum, sir!' he ejaculated. 'Uncommon rum!'

While the greater part of the vessel was deep in sand, a certain area of the deck around the base of the mast was covered with only a thin layer, through which the iron ring of a hatch was clearly visible. On all sides of it the sand appeared to have been cleared away, and heaped up like a regular rampart.

'Some one has been here, and not so long ago,' said Trentham. 'It's certainly queer. See if you can lift the hatch; we may as well go below.'

Meek hesitated.

'If so be there 's cannibals----' he began.

'Nonsense! They wouldn't be stifling under hatches.'

'Or maybe dead corpses or skellingtons.'

'Come, pull up the hatch; I 'll go down first.'

Brushing away the thin covering of sand, Meek seized the ring and heaved. The hatch came up so easily that he almost lost his balance.

'The stairway 's quite sound,' said Trentham, peering into the depths. 'Stand by!'

He stepped upon the companion, and descended. In a few seconds Meek heard the striking of a match, and Trentham's voice ringing out of the vault.

'Come down, Meek; there are no skeletons.'

Meek looked around timorously, sighed, and went slowly down the ladder. Trentham had just struck another match, and was holding it aloft. The flame disclosed a small cabin, the floor space almost filled with a massive table and three chairs of antique make, all of dark oak. Upon the table lay an old sextant, a long leather-bound telescope, a large mug of silver-gilt, heavily chased, a silver spoon, and several smaller objects. On the wall hung a large engraved portrait in a carved oak frame, representing a stout, hook-nosed, heavily wigged gentleman in eighteenth century costume, with a sash across the shoulder and many stars and decorations on the breast.

Meek breathed heavily. The match went out.

'I can't afford to use all my matches,' said Trentham. 'Run up and cut a branch from a bush; that'll serve for a torch for the present. And signal to the others.'

'I don't hardly like to say it, sir, but I 'm afeard as my weak voice won't reach so far.'

'My good man, you 've got long arms. Wave 'em about. Climb up the mast. Use your gumption!'

Meek mounted to the deck, and Trentham smiled as he heard a husky voice shouting, 'Ahoy!' After some minutes the man returned with a thick dry branch.

'I give a hail, sir, and flung my arms about frantic, and Mr. Grinson, he seed me. I can't say he heard me, not being sure. He 've a wonderful voice himself--wonderful, and I heard him answer as clear as a bell.'

'That's all right!' said Trentham, lighting the branch. 'We 've made a discovery, Meek.'

'Seemingly, sir. I 'm fair mazed, and that's the truth of it. Who might be the old soldier yonder, and what's he wear that thing on his head for? He ain't a sea captain, that I 'll swear, and I wonder at any sailor-man sticking up a soldier's picture in his cabin.'

'You 're quite right, Meek,' replied Trentham, who had been scrutinising the portrait. 'The old soldier, as you call him, is a king.'

'You don't say so, sir! Where's his crown, then?'

'Ah, I wonder where! The poor man lost his crown and his head too. It's Louis XVI., King of France a hundred years ago and more. Here it is in French, below the engraving: "Engraved after the portrait by Champfleury." We 're in a French vessel, Meek--the ship of some French explorer, no doubt, who was wrecked here goodness knows how many years ago.'

Meek looked around again, and slightly shivered.

'I wonder what they did with the bones?' he murmured.

'What bones?'

'The cannibals, I mean, sir, when they 'd eat the captain and crew.'

'You 've a ghastly imagination, Meek. A question more to the point is, how it happens that these things remain here, so well preserved. There 's very little sand on the floor, as you see; any one would think that somebody comes here now and then to tidy up. Would your cannibals do that, do you think?'

'I wouldn't like to say, sir. I 'll ask Mr. Grinson; he knows 'em, being nearly eat himself. But I don't know who 'd have a good word for cannibals.'

'At any rate, they aren't thieves. This mug, for instance, is silver gilt, and of some value; here 's a coat-of-arms engraved on it, and it must have been polished not very long ago. Yes, it has been rubbed with sand; look at the slight scratches. I 'm beginning to think rather well of your cannibals.'

'Touch wood, sir,' said Meek earnestly. 'I wouldn't say a thing like that, not till I knowed. And as for thieves--well, if a man's bad enough to eat another man, he 's bad enough to be a thief, and if he ain't a thief, 'tis because he don't know the vally of things. Ignorance is a terrible unfortunate calamity.'

A sonorous bellow from above caused Meek to jump.

'There, now!' he said. 'My head 's full of cannibals, and 'tis Mr. Grinson. We 're down below!' he called.

'Is the place afire?' asked Grinson, sniffing, as he bent his head over the hatchway. 'I thought 'twas Mr. Trentham smoking when I seed the smoke, but I see you 're disinfecting the cabin, sir, and I don't wonder. This 'ere wreck must have been collecting germs a good few years.'

'Come down, Grinson,' said Trentham. 'Where 's Mr. Hoole?'

'Taking a look up the chimbley, sir.'

'What chimney?'

'Well, that's what