Meanwhile in the Mid-Atlantic…
The sun has almost set on the islet, with Rentwich and Gordnauld no closer to finding the mysterious Flandly Overture. Unbeknownst to either of them, in the growing darkness of the surrounding waters, a small yacht approaches. On the deck two men observe the activity on the island.
The younger man: “Did they find it yet?”
The elder man: “No.”
The elder lowers his binoculars and turns to his companion.
The elder man: “I think they need a little help…”
Back on the islet, Gordnauld is losing patience.
Gordnauld: “Come on Rentwich, there’s nothing here! We should find shelter and get some rest.”
Rentwich: “Rest!? You wanna try basting your neck with butter while you’re at it? I heard fennel goes well with B negative, maybe we should throw a litt-”
Gordnauld: “Wait!… Did you see that?”
Rentwich turns to look at the boulder that has inexplicably caught the other’s attention.
On the yacht, the elder man has just flicked off a tight-beam torch.
The elder man: “Now… we wait.”