Tempest had not much faith in the new venture, and he worked more to satisfy the boy’s curiosity than anything else. Prior to the storm, sand had evidently sifted over the hut to a considerable depth, but the upheaval had made the task of the treasure-hunters easier. The roof of the hut was now covered with only a couple of feet of sand, and this they cleared off quickly. The next problem was to find the entrance, and this involved much hard work, but eventually they found an opening. For over an hour they delved steadily, gradually emptying the place, after digging a hole and placing the skeleton in it. There was but little to reward their search――a few rusty tins, the handle of a knife, and the case of a silver watch, blackened with age. “It looks to me like a place built for one man,” commented Tempest, during a momentary pause in their labors. “It may have been the man who owned the platinum,” said Dave. “More than likely. I can quite imagine that if he did land with the stuff, and the crew wanted to make Christmas Island in an open boat, he might prefer to stop on dry land with his blessed treasure until they sent a steamer of some kind to pick him up.” “If that’s what did happen,” said Dave, “the dory they went off in must have been lost, and that accounts for nobody ever hearing what happened to the _Hatteras_.” “’Pon my word, Dave, you’re getting me quite excited about the thing again!” declared Tempest. “It’s only a theory, but it fits in with the facts perfectly. I don’t know who the chap was who died here, but I do wish he’d been considerate enough to leave a message of some sort corked up in a bottle, giving us instructions how to find his old treasure.” “Perhaps he did,” said Dave. “Anyway, let’s go on till we get the cabin emptied of sand. If we don’t find anything, then we will chuck it.” Again they plied the shovels vigorously, until nothing remained within the bare walls of the rudely constructed cabin. “That settles it,” commented Tempest, at last. “Now are you satisfied, Dave?” “I suppose so,” said the boy ruefully, straightening his back and resting on his shovel. “There’s nothing more to be done, is there?” “No, I’m afraid this is the finish. Not even the message in a bottle to lure us on.” “But,” Dave exclaimed, with a touch of impatience, “what the dickens can the man have done with the platinum? He couldn’t eat it.” “Buried it somewhere, I guess. People generally do bury treasure, you know.” “Maybe he buried it under the floor here,” said Dave, casually digging his shovel deep into the sand. There was a metallic click as the steel struck something hard. “Gosh! That’s funny!” the boy exclaimed, looking round at his friend as he lifted out the sand on the shovel. “Tempest, do you suppose――” “Rock, I expect,” said Tempest, not waiting a second, however, before he too had his shovel at work on the same spot.