unpleasant sight, and for this very sound reason he did not turn immediately. But at last the operation could no longer be postponed with credit to the Merchant Service, and he twisted his neck round, though not his body and his legs. You need those to run with.
The sight that met his anxious eyes was definitely unpleasant. It was, in fact, the giant. Ben had over-estimated the giant’s height, which was nearer ten feet than twenty; even so, it was sufficiently above the average to be impressive. There were, however, other features more disturbing still. The giant’s staring eyes had large white rings painted round them. His great mouth extended almost from ear to ear in a humourless grin. His nose had three nostrils. Ben counted them several times, very rapidly, and there was no mistake about it; he wondered, even in the grip of terror, whether they all functioned.
The one satisfactory thing about the giant was his perfect immobility. He was standing on a pedestal, carved in rock.
‘Coo!’ muttered Ben.
‘In the language of Shakespeare,’ answered the Third Officer, ‘you have said it.’
Then Ben made another discovery. The giant was merely one member of a little family party. The other members—there were four in all, but there surely should have been five, since a fifth pedestal was empty—were of varying sizes. They were all equal in ugliness, however, and they were all staring unblinkingly towards the rising sun, standing out with uncanny brilliance against their background of dense foliage. The points that stood out most brilliantly were the staring optics themselves. They were not of rock. They were gold.
Ben did the only obvious thing. He shut his own eyes very tight, counted ten, and then opened them again. The family party was still there.
‘Yes, I tried that,’ murmured the Third Officer. ‘It doesn’t work.’
‘Lumme!’ whispered Ben. ‘’Ave they come dahn ter ’ave a bathe?’
A voice behind him made him start.
‘Excuse me,’ said the voice, ‘but do you both see what I see?’
A sadly shrunken Lord Cooling stood behind them.
‘We do,’ replied the Third Officer, ‘and we are just discussing theories. My friend here suggests that they have appeared for their morning dip.’
‘Well, tastes vary,’ commented Lord Cooling. ‘Personally, I have lost my enthusiasm for the water. What is the alternative theory?’
‘Fairly obvious, I think,’ said the Third Officer.
‘Yus, Guy Forks fact’ry,’ suggested Ben.
‘These flashes of rare intelligence are a little overpowering,’ observed Lord Cooling, attempting to preserve his dignity by screwing in his monocle. He had saved his monocle, though he had lost nearly all else. ‘May I have your own thought, Mr Haines?’
‘Well, sir—the island’s inhabited,’ answered Haines.
‘Ah! And would you call that an advantage, now—or not?’
‘It does rather depend, sir, on the inhabitants.’
‘Exactly. But are you sure? These examples of art may belong to a pre-Epstein Age? For instance, I understand they exist on Easter Island, which is no longer cannibalistic?’
‘’Ere! Wot’s that?’ jerked Ben.
Haines threw Lord Cooling a warning glance.
‘I haven’t suggested that these inhabitants are cannibalistic,’ he said.
‘I will accept that, with a private reservation,’ smiled Lord Cooling. ‘Perhaps my mind moves rather fast, but I agree that, in any case, one must fit one’s words to one’s company.’
‘Just as well, sir,’ nodded Haines. ‘All the company isn’t present, either.’
‘True, Mr Haines. While I was trying hard not to wake up a few minutes ago, I thought I missed your own company?’
‘I dare say, sir.’
‘Where were you?’
‘Mouching around.’
‘Have you done any mouching in that unpleasant forest?’
‘Not yet. Our stoker is the real pioneer—though he returned from his pioneering rather hurriedly. I was trying to find bits of the boat.’
‘Any luck?’
Haines shook his head gravely.
‘The bits I did find were quite useless. It’s the provisions we want.’
‘Very true. We may not quite appreciate the—er—native fare. Which brings us back to the natives. You’ve not seen any, of course?’
‘No.’
‘Then let us assume the race is extinct.’
‘We can’t, sir. I came upon a footprint or two—and that’s why I’m not too keen on those things!’ He jerked his head towards the statues. ‘Still, we’ll get through this all right. I—I hope, sir, I can count on you for optimism?’
‘I am a company promoter, Mr Haines,’ replied Lord Cooling. ‘You can count on my optimism implicitly.’
But Haines had suddenly ceased to listen. His eyes gazed beyond Lord Cooling towards the beach. The other little heaps were stirring, and the heap he was most interested in had risen and was coming towards them.
As Ruth Sheringham approached, her sodden blue dress clinging to her pathetically but in no way, Haines considered, detracting from her charm, her lithe body stiffened, and she stopped. But she only paused for a few seconds. She came on again without any visible signs of panic.
‘Well done, Miss Sheringham,’ said Haines.
‘Did you think I was the fainting kind?’ she retorted. ‘Aren’t they pretty?’
‘Go on!’ muttered Ben in astonishment.
Lord Cooling regarded Ben with growing disapproval.
‘Historians of the future may deduce that Miss Sheringham did not quite mean what she said,’ he suggested with frigid sarcasm, ‘and they may also record that a stoker who talked too much was presented as a peace offering to a cannibal chief!’
‘Well, ain’t you torkin’ too much?’ retorted Ben, with a boldness he would never have shown on the ship. ‘We sed we was goin’ ter keep mum abart them cannerbuls!’
‘Cannibals?’ repeated Ruth.
‘Will you shut up?’ Haines exclaimed to Ben.
‘Well, why does heverybody sit on me?’ answered Ben. ‘I was born sat on, and I’m fair sick of it, that’s a fack!’
Lord Cooling sighed.
‘If
