“I should like to,” said Pauline, all docility. “Besides,” she smiled, “I should like to see for myself if there is any truth in that strange writing.” Half an hour later we had, with some difficulty, stowed the ladies--for the mother insisted on coming also--in the stern-sheets of the little launch which rose and fell dizzily under the lee of the yacht. The two Vandermeulens were amidships, ready to give instructions to the helmsman. I noticed that they had a pick and shovel on board. I sat close to Pauline. She was looking pale, but the sea-sickness was in abeyance for the moment and a touch of digitalis I had given her had stiffened her up. We sheered off, set a course over the rolling dark blue well toward the islet we could see as we lifted on the waves. We had anchored rather on the Old Providence side of the channel dividing the islands, and the launch was about midway between the two when Pauline, who had been looking around her with some curiosity, uttered a sudden ejaculation. “That’s not the island!” she cried, with a gesture toward Santa Katalina. “It’s the other one--the big one!” She pointed to Old Providence. Then she checked herself, a peculiar look of puzzlement in her face. “I wonder whatever made me say that!” she exclaimed. “One would think I have been here before--but I can’t have!” “But that’s Santa Katalina!” objected Geoffrey, pointing to the islet. It undoubtedly was. “Wait!” said old Vandermeulen, who had been sharply watching his daughter for any sign of recognition. “I guess Pauline knows what she is talking about!” He stopped the engine and for a few moments we rose and fell idly upon the waves, while the two men stared across to Old Providence. “By Jove, yes!” cried Geoffrey suddenly. “Pauline’s right! Look! There’s Skull Point!” He indicated, with outstretched hand, a jutting headland whose face had been weather-sculptured into the unmistakable semblance of a skull. “Skull Point it is!” said old Vandermeulen, with such an oath as he did not usually let come to his daughter’s ears. In another moment we had gone about and were throbbing quickly toward the headland. All eyes were fixed on it as we approached. Geoffrey had produced a compass. “Look!” he cried. “The three trees! South-west-by-south from Skull Point!” Sure enough, in the direction designated, three enormous trees, evidently hundreds of years old, raised their heads high above the mass of more recent vegetation. A quarter of an hour later we were running into a little cove on the west side of the headland. A ledge of rock, sheltered from the swell, offered itself as a landing-stage, and we ran alongside and made fast. Old Vandermeulen ordered the two members of the yacht’s crew, who had accompanied us, to remain in the launch. The rest of us started off into the island, Geoffrey carrying the tools. The three trees were at no great distance, at the summit of a slope of broken-down volcanic rock. Geoffrey arrived first.