a minute, then he made a face to express his contempt for me and bolted
after his mate. I stared at his bare legs walloping the planks, and
feeling certain that I had lost all chance of finding out where the
white waterfall and Black Fernando's hell were situated, I found a new
shadow patch and lay down again.

I fell asleep and dreamed that I was chasing those two islanders in an
endeavour to find out the meaning of their mysterious chant, but just as
I had overtaken the pair, some one gripped my arm and shook me gently.

When I opened my eyes I looked up into the face of a good-looking young
fellow of about two and twenty years, who was smiling broadly as if he
thought it a great joke to wake a man out of a sound sleep on a hot
afternoon.

"Are you Jack Verslun?" he asked.

I nodded. It was too warm to use words recklessly.

"Pierre the Rat sent me after you," he continued.

"Why?" I asked.

"I have a berth for you," he answered. "I'm from _The Waif_. The mate
died on the run down from Sydney, and Captain Newmarch sent me ashore to
hunt up some one for his perch. Do you want it?"

"Where are you bound?" I asked.

"Manihiki group."