The two gentlemen stripped at once, and spread their clothing out to dry on the black rocks; but Gurt, disdaining such luxury, perched himself in a sunny place, and watched them swimming in the shallow waters near shore to refresh their weary limbs. The sun was now considerably above the horizon, burning hotly in a cloudless blue sky, and the sultry rays soon dried the clothes spread out on the rocks, so in a short time they were soon dressed again, and ready to start out in search of Justinian. True, they were very hungry, but Crispin had some biscuits in his pocket, which appeased their appetites in some measure, and, after a good drink of brandy each, they began to trudge along the stony beach, guided by the poet, to whom every inch of the island was as familiar as his own face. The reddish cliffs and white sand of the beach, catching the hot sunlight, threw out intense heat, and, from being cold, the three adventurers soon became uncomfortably warm. “Do you think Caliphronas is safe?” asked Maurice hesitatingly, as they walked along. “Caliphronas has nine lives, like a cat,” retorted Crispin savagely; “but, after his treachery of last night, I hope he will meet the doom he deserves. If it had not been for his cutting that rope, Martin would have been alive now.” “That is, if the gig reached shore safely.” “Of course! The sea was wild, and she might have been swamped, like the lifeboat; still, we must hope for the best.” “I seed Bulk a-chuckin’ of that ’ere gent inter the water,” said Gurt, addressing the air with elaborate indifference. “I hope Bulk succeeded,” replied Crispin grimly; “but what’s that?” A dark object was lying on the white beach, and, as they raced up to it, Crispin gave a cry of anguish. “Why, it’s poor Stokins!” he said, recognizing the features of the mate. “He was in charge of the boat. I’m afraid she was smashed up like the other.” “And ’ere’s Jimson and Bildge,” cried Gurt, from a distance, where he had discovered two corpses. “They’ve all gone t’ kingdom come, gents!” “Caliphronas also, I suppose!” said Maurice sadly; for, in spite of his dislike to the wily Greek, it seemed terrible that his joyous youth should be ended so suddenly by the cruel sea. “It looks as if we were the only survivors,” remarked Crispin moodily, as they resumed their journey. “We must have those poor fellows buried. I will speak to Justinian.” “Where is Justinian?” asked Maurice a little irritably. “Does he live on this arid peak?” “Yes; but do not judge by external appearances. This rocky mountain, so sparsely clothed with trees, is only the uninviting shell of a very fine kernel.” “You speak in riddles.” “I seem to have been doing that ever since I knew you, judging from your frequent mention of the fact. However, we will soon come to the tunnel, and then you will see.” “What tunnel?”