It was at the brigantine that had left in the morning, and the tartan that had just set sail, that Edmond fixed his eyes.
The first was just disappearing in the straits of Bonifacio; the other, following an opposite direction, was about to round the Island of Corsica.
This sight reassured him. He then looked at the objects near him. He saw that he was on the highest point of the island—a statue on this vast pedestal of granite, nothing human appearing in sight, while the blue ocean beat against the base of the island, and covered it with a fringe of foam. Then he descended with cautious and slow step, for he dreaded lest an accident similar to that he had so adroitly feigned should happen in reality.
Dantès, as we have said, had traced the marks along the rocks, and he had noticed that they led to a small creek, which was hidden like the bath of some ancient nymph.
This creek was sufficiently wide at its mouth, and deep in the centre, to admit of the entrance of a small vessel of the lugger class, which would be perfectly concealed from observation.
Then following the clue that, in the hands of the Abbé Faria had been so skilfully used to guide him through the Daedalian labyrinth of probabilities, he thought that the Cardinal Spada, anxious not to be watched, had entered the creek, concealed his little barque, followed the line marked by the notches in the rock, and at the end of it had buried his treasure.
It was this idea that had brought Dantès back to the circular rock.
One thing only perplexed Edmond, and destroyed his theory. How could this rock, which weighed several tons, have been lifted to this spot, without the aid of many men?