"No jolly fear," protested his companion. "He wouldn't have left his trophy lying here unless he went on, intending to get it again on the return journey. Bring that light a bit lower, old thing; that's right. Yes, I thought so." Close to the ground was a narrow, tunnel-like gap in the undergrowth. This the two men negotiated on their hands and knees, to find themselves in a wide, sloping expanse of open country devoid of trees and dotted by a few stunted bushes. "Which way now?" inquired Bobby, as the two chums regained their feet. Villiers did not reply. "Switch off that light for half a tick," he said. Beverley did so. For some seconds they stood blinking in the sudden transition from dazzling light to intense darkness. "What's the move?" asked Beverley. "I thought--might have been mistaken, though. Ah! there you are; what's that?" At a considerable distance away--how far it was impossible to gauge with any degree of accuracy--a feeble ray of light stabbed the darkness--three short, three long, and then three short flashes. "S.O.S.," exclaimed Villiers and Beverley simultaneously. "Switch on again," continued the former. "Keep behind me. I've got a pocket compass." Taking a rough bearing of the direction of the distress signal, Villiers began to walk rapidly towards its source of emission, Beverley following a good ten paces behind, and throwing the beam of the Aldis lamp ahead in order to enable Villiers to make his way over the rather rough ground, much of which consisted of "rotten" lava and boulders of various sizes. Above the moan of the off-shore breeze they could hear the roar of the surf. They had almost gained the other side of the island. Suddenly Villiers came to a halt. A precipice yawned at his feet. How deep it was he was unable to see until his companion came up with the light. "Be careful," he cautioned. "The edge is pretty soft. Hand me the lamp and hang on to my feet." Possessing himself of the Aldis lamp, Villiers lay prone upon the bare ground, while Bobby, hardly able to control his feelings, gripped his companion's ankles. They were on the edge of a terraced cliff that rose a good eighty feet above a shelving beach. Twenty yards from the base was Dick Beverley. "You all right, Dick?" shouted his brother. "All right so far," was the reply. "Ankle's a bit sprained." "We'll soon be with you," rejoined Bobby reassuringly. It was easier said than done, for although there were five or six natural terraces, the cliff looked formidable enough in the deflected rays of the lamp. "Better wait till the moon rises, old bird," counselled Villiers. "It won't be long now." "That won't help us much," objected Bobby. "We're on the west side of the island, remember. How did you climb down, Dick?" he inquired, raising his voice. "I didn't climb--I was pushed," answered Dick resentfully.