Herbert went to the door. He saw Ayrton slide down the elevator’s rope and disappear into the darkness.
“The poor man!” he said after he returned.
“He will return,” said Cyrus Smith.
“So, Mister Cyrus,” shouted Pencroff, “what do you say to that? If Ayrton did not throw this bottle into the sea, then who did?”
Surely, if ever a question had to be asked, this was it.
“It was he,” replied Neb, “only the poor soul was already half mad.”
“Yes!” said Herbert, “and he was no longer conscious of what he was doing.”
“That is the only way to explain it, my friends,” Cyrus Smith vividly replied, “and now I understand how Ayrton was able to indicate the exact position of Tabor Island since the very events that preceded his abandonment on the island were known to him.”
“However,” Pencroff noted, “if he still was not a brute when he wrote his document and if it has been seven or eight years since he threw it into the sea, why wasn’t the paper affected by the dampness?”
“That proves,” replied Cyrus Smith, “that Ayrton was deprived of his intelligence much more recently than he thinks.”
“That’s the way it must have happened,” replied Pencroff. “We can’t explain it otherwise.”
“It would be quite unexplainable,” replied the engineer, who did not seem to want to prolong the conversation.
“But has Ayrton told the truth?” asked the sailor.
“Yes,” replied the reporter. “The story that he has told is true on all points. I clearly recall the accounts in the newspapers of Lord Glenarvan’s undertaking and of the result he attained.”
“Ayrton has told the truth,” added Cyrus Smith, “do not doubt it, Pencroff, because it was bitter for him. One tells the truth when he accuses himself in this way.”
The next day—the 21th of December—the colonists descended to the beach. They climbed to the plateau and no longer found Ayrton there. Ayrton had reached his house in the corral during the night and the colonists judged it best not to disturb him with their presence. Time would doubtless do what encouragements could not.
Herbert, Pencroff and Neb then resumed their accustomed occupations. On this day, Cyrus Smith and the reporter were together in the workshop at the Chimneys.
“Do you know, my dear Cyrus,” said Gideon Spilett, “that the explanation that you gave yesterday on the subject of the bottle has not satisfied me at all. How can we admit that the poor fellow was able to write this document and throw the bottle into the sea without having any memory of it?”
“It was not he who threw it in, my dear Spilett.”
“Then you still believe...”
“I believe nothing, I know nothing!” replied Cyrus Smith, interrupting the reporter. “I am content to rank this incident among those which I have not been able to explain to this day!”
“Truthfully, Cyrus,” said Gideon Spilett, “these things are unbelievable! Your rescue, the case stranded on the sand, Top’s adventures, finally this bottle... Will we ever have some explanation to these enigmas?”
“Yes!” replied the engineer vividly, “yes, if I have to search the very bowels of this island.”
“Chance perhaps will give us the key to this mystery!”
“Chance, Spilett! I hardly believe in chance any more than I believe in the mysteries of this world. There is a reason for every unexplainable event that has occurred here and I will find it. But while waiting, let us observe and work.”
The month of January arrived and the year 1867 began. Summer activities were carried on industriously. During the days which followed, Herbert and Gideon Spilett went to the corral and assured themselves that Ayrton had taken possession of the dwelling that they had prepared for him. He occupied himself with the numerous flocks confined to his care which saved his companions the trouble of coming every two or three days to visit the corral. However, in order not to leave Ayrton alone for too long a time, the colonists visited him often.
As a result of certain suspicions shared by the engineer and Gideon Spilett, they felt that this part of the island should be subject to a certain surveillance and that Ayrton should not neglect to inform the inhabitants of Granite House of any unexpected incident.
However, such an incident had to be brought to the engineer’s immediate attention. In addition to all the facts relating to the mystery of Lincoln Island, other things might occur which would call for the prompt intervention of the colonists, such as the appearance of a passing vessel on the open sea in view of the western coast, a wreck on the western shore, the possible arrival of pirates, etc.
Cyrus Smith resolved to put the corral into instantaneous communication with Granite House.
On the 10th of January he told his companions about his plan.
“So, how do you intend to proceed, Mister Cyrus?” asked Pencroff. “Are you by any chance thinking of installing a telegraph?”
“Precisely,” replied the engineer.
“Electric?” shouted Herbert.
“Electric,” replied Cyrus Smith. “We have all the elements necessary for making a battery; the most difficult part will be in drawing the iron wire, but by means of a drawplate I think that we will finally succeed.”
“Well, after that,” replied the sailor, “it wouldn’t surprise me if we rolled out a railroad one day.”
They then got to work and began with the most difficult task, that is to say the making of the wires, because if that should miscarry it would be useless to make the battery and the other accessories.
The iron of Lincoln Island, as we know, was of an excellent quality and consequently very suitable for being drawn. Cyrus Smith began by making a drawplate, that is to say a steel plate pierced by conical holes of various sizes which would successively bring the wire to the desired diameter. This piece of steel, after