“Jove, that is luck!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “I only hope our luck holds and we find our friends at home.”
It was soon evident that the tramp steamer would pass close to the island and that the submarine could hold her course and yet be within half a mile of the tramp as she slipped by the Cay which both were rapidly approaching.
“Better let Smernoff have a look and see if he knows the place,” suggested Mr. Henderson. “Perhaps he can even pick out the location of the houses and where the men land.”
“All right, have him come right up then,” said Rawlins. “I’ll have to drop down and get the periscope under water in a minute; we’re getting too close to the island and that tramp to risk being seen.”
Presently the Russian arrived and bending his huge shoulders peered into the eye-piece of the periscope.
“Sure, that heem,” he announced in broken English, and then pointed out a row of coconut palms on the western end of the Cay which he said was the spot where the men landed, and indicated a hill just to the left which he declared was where the men had dwelt in the old stone rooms.
“Well, that’s all hunky-dory!” declared Rawlins jubilantly. “Now we’ll just drop down and run along easy and come to rest on a nice sandy bottom around the point and walk ashore and ask our ‘red’ friends how they feel after the surprise party we gave ’em back there. Say, these chaps picked out a mighty fitting place for themselves—just the spot for a gang of pirates and thugs. Trade Wind Cay used to be a real pirate hang-out. Back in the buccaneer days they held the place and defied all the world for years—it was those old chaps cut the stairs and forts and rooms out of the living rock. Used prisoners to do the work and then murdered them afterwards. Spooky sort of place. That’s why the natives fight shy of it; and they say there’s a lot of treasure buried there.”
“I expect it’s being a ‘spooky’ place, as you say is one reason these men selected it,” commented Mr. Pauling. “They probably knew they would not be disturbed. But how do you account for the fact that they found a few natives there whom they killed according to Smernoff’s story?”
“Most likely smugglers or political refugees,” replied Rawlins, “Every time there’s a row in Santo Domingo a bunch of the natives clear out to save their skins and a place like this would suit ’em first rate. And there’s always a crowd of smugglers knocking about. Or they may have been fishermen or settlers from some of the others islands—from over Porto Rico or St. Thomas way, who didn’t know the reputation of the Cay.”
“Say,” said Tom, who had been listening attentively as Rawlins had been speaking. “If there’s treasure there perhaps we can find it. Wouldn’t that be great?”