it.

Before the sun went down he succeeded, and made a wick by unraveling a
few strands of wool from his jersey. When night fell, with the
suddenness of the tropics, Iris was able to illuminate her small
domain.

They were both utterly tired and ready to drop with fatigue. The girl
said "Good night," but instantly reappeared from behind the tarpaulin.

"Am I to keep the lamp alight?" she inquired.

"Please yourself, Miss Deane. Better not, perhaps. It will only burn
four or five hours, any way."

Soon the light vanished, and he lay down, his pipe between his teeth,
close to the cave's entrance. Weary though he was, he could not sleep
forthwith. His mind was occupied with the signs on the canister head.

"32 divided by 1; an 'X' and a dot," he repeated several times. "What
do they signify?"

Suddenly he sat up, with every sense alert, and grabbed his revolver.
Something impelled him to look towards the spot, a few feet away, where
the skeleton was hidden. It was the rustling of a bird among the trees
that had caught his ear.

He thought of the white framework of a once powerful man, lying there
among the bushes, abandoned, forgotten, horrific. Then he smothered a
cry of surprise.