ell
as Ranulph had vanished. Mattingley shook his head stoically,
but Richambeau on the Victoire was as keen to hunt down one
Jersey-Englishman as he had ever been to attack an English fleet. More
so, perhaps.

Meanwhile the birds kept up a wild turmoil and shrieking. Never before
had any one heard them so clamorous. More than once Mattingley had
looked at Perch Rock curiously, but whenever the thought of it as a
refuge came to him, he put it away. No, it was impossible.

Yet, what was that? Mattingley's heart thumped. There were two people on
the lofty island wall--a man and a woman. He caught' the arm of a French
officer near him. "Look, look!" he said. The officer raised his glass.

"It's the gunner," he cried and handed the glass to the old man.

"It's Carterette," said Mattingley in a hoarse voice. "But it's not
possible. It's not possible," he added helplessly. "Nobody was ever
there. My God, look at it--look at it!"

It was a picture indeed. A man and a woman were outlined against the
clear air, putting up a tent as calmly as though on a lawn, thousands of
birds wheeling over their heads, with querulous cries.

A few moments later, Elie Mattingley was being rowed swiftly to the
Victoire, where Richambeau was swearing viciously as he looked through
his telescope. He also had recognised the gunner.

He was prepared to wipe out the fishing-post if Mattingley did not
produce Ranulph--well, "here was Ranulph duly produced and insultingly
setting up a tent on this sheer rock, with some snippet of the devil,"
said Richambeau, and defying a great French war-ship. He would set his
gunners to work. If he only had as good a marksman as Ranulph himself,
the deserter should drop at the first shot "death and the devil take his
impudent face!"

He was just about to give the order when Mattingley was brought to him.
The old man's story amazed him beyond measure.

"It is no man, then!" said Richambeau, when Mattingley had done. "He
must be a damned fly to do it. And the girl--sacre moi! he drew her up
after him. I'll have him down out of that though, or throw up my flag,"
he added, and turning fiercely, gave his orders.

For hours the Victoire bombarded the lonely rock from the north. The
white tent was carried away, but the cannon-balls flew over or merely
battered the solid rock, the shells were thrown beyond, and no harm was
done. But now and again the figure of Ranulph appeared, and a half-dozen
times he took aim