Small fear of any one raiding that _cache_, Onslow thought; and two days later, with a clear mind, he was cabling “_Right_” to Theodore Shelf from the Eastern Union Telegraph Company’s Office in the hotel hall at Point Sebastian. * * * * * Now, modern science enables us to cry a message by wire round half the earth at breakfast time, and have an answer returned to us before the gong sounds for luncheon; and it was in anticipation of a quick exchange of news like this that Onslow had come to the nearest outpost of civilization. He had hidden his £500,000 of gold, released the two men in the chart-house, with instructions that when they felt inclined (or sufficiently recovered) for work they should, with the negroes’ help, set about transforming the steamer’s appearance; and afterwards had made his way, partly overland by an Indian’s path he knew of, partly in dug-out through lagoon and bayou, to Point Sebastian. It was an entire surprise to him to meet Miss Kildare there. But this time it was no special shock. That early morning glimpse of her in the schooner had warned him of her neighborhood. He got a return message to his cable it is true; but not before noon on the following day. It said “_Take no steps: am writing_,” and seemed to hint at a change of plan. In another place he might have resented the delay. At least eleven days must pass, and probably more, before a letter could reach him; and all the while he would be condemned to inaction and anxiety. But, as it was, he read Mr. Theodore Shelf’s reply cablegram with a frown, which was quite evanescent, and felt a mild satisfaction in the respite. In the afternoon he took out Miss Kildare to fish for tarpon. By one of those singular chances which occur every century or so, a tarpon they did actually catch on that first day of fishing, a thirty pound monster, with glittering silver scales on him as big as dollars, who gave three hours’ frantic fight before he turned his belly to the skies, and submitted to traveling beachwards in the boat. “We got him between us,” said Miss Kildare. “That’s my first, and I’ve tried for him times out of number.” “My first also, and I’ve tarpon-fished for weeks.” “We seem to bring one another luck.” “It’s an undoubted fact, Elsie, we do.” The deduction seemed to give rise to thoughts in each of them, and they let their eyes rove vaguely over the blue Gulf waters for the next few minutes without speaking, whilst the boat rode gently over the windless swells which slid in through the outlying keys. A porpoise surged past them, coughing as he chased a shoal of mullet; and, overhead, a string of purple and yellow cranes screamed wearily as they flapped home to the Everglades after a day’s hard fishing on a growing reef. “They’ve all got to make their living,” said Onslow. “Who?” asked the girl.