Besides, as has been said before, he was almost convinced himself that his imagination had played a trick upon him. And yet--that man's figure, sinister, stealthy, stealing from the shadows of the cave into the blackness of the night. He could have sworn at the moment that he saw it. Was it possible for his eyes so to betray him?
Since there was no one to answer the question for him, Phil wisely decided to leave it unanswered and put the incident, as far as was possible, completely out of his mind.
This was not so hard a task, either, seeing that there was plenty to occupy his mind in excited plans for the recovery of the treasure.
However, these plans were destined to be nipped in the bud. For the sun which, early in the morning had given promise of a glorious day, went suddenly behind a cloud and there was that dead, breathless stillness in the air which the boys had come to know invariably presaged a storm.
"Confound the luck," growled Dick, as together they stood outside the cave, looking uncertainly at the threatening sky. "Seems to me the storm we had yesterday should have cleared the atmosphere----"
"We're in for another one, just the same," said Jack Benton, his own face clouded with concern. "It's hard luck just when we fairly had our hands upon the treasure but after all it only means a delay of a day or two, perhaps only a few hours. You know how soon these tropical storms pass."
"I'm for trying it, anyway," said Dick, who was always impatient of delay. "What do you say Phil?" he added, turning to his chum.
"Can't be done, old boy," he said. "It would be suicide to go out in the teeth of one of these storms. You ought to have seen enough of them by this time to know that. Guess we'll have to wait till the weather decides to be nice."
"That's whar you shows yo' common sense, Marse Phil," he applauded. "'Taint no use invitin' d'undertaker to make us a visit. He's done likely t' come wivout no invitation, anyways--"
"What do you mean by that?" asked Phil curiously with the grin he always saved for Bimbo.
"Ah means, Marse Phil," returned the black boy, emphatically, "thet there aint no luck, no how lingerin' on this island. Mah advice to you, Marse Phil is dat you grab dat treasure an' skip out o' here as fas' you legs kin carry yo'. Yassir, Marse Phil, ef yo was to ask dis nigger for advice dat's what he'd be tellin' yo'."