The horse cantered on. The children could hear the sound of the waves breaking on the shore far below. They were driving along a high, winding cliff road, and the sea-wind blew hard in their faces. It was a very pleasant breeze, for the sun was hot, and still high in the sky.
“What’s our house called?” Mike asked the farm-lad, who was driving.
“It’s called Peep-Hole,” said the lad.
“Peep-Hole!” said Jack, surprised. “What an odd name!”
“You’ll be seeing it in a minute,” said the lad. “There it be!”
He pointed with his whip - and the four children saw the queer little house that was to be their home and the centre of their strange adventures for the next few weeks.
It was a funny crooked house, with a queer little tower built on one side of it. It was set in a hollow in the cliffs, and was turned towards the sea.
“It’s called Peep-Hole because it really is a kind of peep-hole out to sea, set in the middle of those two cliffs,” said the farm-lad. “And from the tower you can see the tower of the old house set back on the cliff behind those tall trees there. They do say that in smugglers’ days someone in the Peep-Hole used to flash signals to someone watching in the tower of the Old House.”
“I say! This sounds exciting,” said Jack. “Smugglers - and towers - and flashing lights - and I suppose there are caves too.”
“Scores of them,” said the lad, grinning. “You mind you don’t get lost in some of them, or get caught by the tide. This is a rare dangerous coast for children.”