Yet, what was that? Mattingley's heart thumped. There were two people
on the lofty island wall--a man and a woman. He caught' the arm of a
French officer near him. "Look, look!" he said. The officer raised his
glass.

"It's the gunner," he cried and handed the glass to the old man.

"It's Carterette," said Mattingley in a hoarse voice. "But it's not
possible. It's not possible," he added helplessly. "Nobody was ever
there. My God, look at it--look at it!"

It was a picture indeed. A man and a woman were outlined against the
clear air, putting up a tent as calmly as though on a lawn, thousands of
birds wheeling over their heads, with querulous cries.

A few moments later, Elie Mattingley was being rowed swiftly to the
Victoire, where Richambeau was swearing viciously as he looked through
his telescope. He also had recognised the gunner.

He was prepared to wipe out the fishing-post if Mattingley did not
produce Ranulph--well, "here was Ranulph duly produced and insultingly
setting up a tent on this sheer rock, with some snippet of the devil,"
said Richambeau, and defying a great French war-ship. He would set his
gunners to work. If he only had as good a marksman as Ranulph himself,
the deserter should drop at the first shot "death and the devil take his
impudent face!"

He was just about to give the order when Mattingley was brought to him.
The old man's story amazed him beyond measure.