It was midnight. Johnny Thompson paced the deck of the _Sea Nymph_ alone. He would be doing this until daybreak. The tropical night was glorious. There was a faint breeze--just enough to ripple the waters where the phosphorescent light thrown off by a million tiny creatures rivaled the stars above. "Spooky," he thought, meditatively. "Out here all alone with the night.... Natives over there." He faced the east, where dark green hills loomed out of the water. Over there was a small island. Johnny never had been there. Some time he'd get into a canoe and paddle over. Earlier in the evening he had seen a light, a white man's light, he had thought, without knowing why. He--…
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