Beneath a crescent moon, in a clearing in the forest, two shadowy figures were wielding spades in a hole, while the third held a lanthorn aloft, the better to view their exertions. Sudenly, one of the spades struck a hard object, and after much scrabbling in the compacted soil, and further levering with the spade, the lid of an ancient chest was prised open, to reveal a mildewed document, rolled up and held together with a faded ribbon.

One of the figures took the treasured document, which was snatched from his hand by the third figure with the lanthorn and wooden leg. Securing the lanthorn in the ground by means of a pole, this figure untied the ribbon, opened the scroll, and surveyed the text. The other two figures scrambled out of the hole and peered at the document.

The one-legged personage spluttered with rage and disappointment. Instead of the commentary, it was part of an imagined discussion between three dramatis personae, the substance of which was not what they had come to the island to unearth.

“So we have arrived too late,” said Ben Gunn sardonically, leaning on his spade. His young companion, the Cabin Boy, merely watched the other two.

Even now, far out into the bay, the Hispaniola might have been visible beyond the trees as she shipped anchor and swung towards the open ocean. Two highly satisfied figures might have been observed at the helm - the one recognisable by his cosmopolitan garb and urbanity of manner as Dr Livesey, the other identifiable by the ostentatious garments of a high-ranking naval officer, his hat one size too large for his ample head. In the hand of the former was held the prized object of their endeavours: the commentary.