“No star, sar!” he declared. “We would still see the light—and no star is blue. But——”
He drew closer to the little riding light which was on the mast and which they used as their only illumination that evening. “Back in my island there is a story, sar, that when a treasure is in danger ghosts appear to scare people away and when a treasure is not being guarded by ghosts there is a light hovering over the spot where it is buried!”
“Well, that is great!” declared Nicky eagerly. “All we have to do then is to go there tomorrow and get the treasure!”
Although neither Tom nor Sam fully agreed that there was nothing to menace their personal welfare, they retired with the others. Sam curled up, as usual, in the cockpit, and the three chums laid themselves on the roof of the cabin, on blankets, their air pillows inflated and under their heads.
They did not discuss the matter of the light. It did not appear again and Nicky and Cliff dropped off to sleep. Tom, lying awake, battling with himself mentally, trying to make his common sense defeat his instinctive apprehension, started and almost thrust Cliff over the low rail with the violence of his motion.
From somewhere about the hull of their sloop came three distinct taps! Rap! Rap! Rap!
Mr. Neale, seated near the tiller, half dozing, answered, as Cliff and Nicky stirred and came awake.
“Probably drifting wood or possibly we are almost on a coral reef—or the anchor cable may have rubbed and made the noise. There is not a thing!——”
“Look!” gasped Nicky—“Look! In the water! Light—bluish light, moving away.”
Everyone was fully awake and staring in every direction. Cliff located Nicky’s indicating finger, followed the direction, saw a swirl of phosphorescence in the water.
“Maybe a shark!” he declared, “a shark came up to investigate us, looking for food, I’ll bet!”
“That was it!” declared Mr. Neale. “Go back to sleep.”
“There’s the light again!” Tom quavered. Even Cliff and Nicky felt chilling prickles run up and down their spines at Tom’s tone. Sam looked and slumped down, hiding his face in the cockpit.
“Hit’s—hit’s—ghos’es!” he shuddered, forgetting his educated diction in his terror.
“Mr. Neale, let’s go and see—” begged Nicky.
“Let me go too?” urged Cliff, “Nicky went last time.”