He turned and swept the four-mile curve of coast around to the north-
northeast. Suddenly he stiffened and held the glasses fixed.

"Look!" he cried. "Off there to the northwards--cliffs!"

"Cliffs? Aye, a headland," confirmed the skipper.

"Put about for it immediately," directed Lord James. "If they were
cast up here, they'd not have lingered in these vile bogs--would have
made for the high ground."

Meggs nodded, and called the order to the steersman. The ship's bows
swung around, and the little steamer was soon scuttling upcoast
towards the headland, along the outer line of reefs, at a speed of
seven knots.

From the first, Lord James held his glasses fixed on the barren guano-
whitened ledges of the headland. But though he could discern with
quickly increasing distinctness the seabirds that soared about the
cliff crest and nested in its crevices, he perceived no sign of any
signal such as castaways might be expected to place on so prominent a
height.

When, after a full half-hour's run, the steamer skirted along the edge
of the reefs, close in under the seaward face of the headland, the
searcher at last lowered his binoculars, bitterly disappointed.

"Not a trace--not a trace!" he complained. "If they've been here,
they've either gone inland or--we're too late! Six weeks--starvation--
fever!"