“Now what do you think of that?” demanded Jimmie.
“Say,” chuckled Carl, “do you think that fellow is custodian of the temple, and has to do that stunt every night, the same as a watchman in New York has to turn a key in a clock every hour?”
Jimmie nudged his chum in the ribs in appreciation of the observation, and then stood silent, his eyes fixed on the broken tower across the cove.
While he looked a red light burned for an instant at the apex of the old tower, and in an instant was followed by a blue light farther up on the cliff. The boys remained silent, wondering.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Carl insisted, in a moment. “Do you think they pull off this stunt here every night?”
“Oh, keep still!” exclaimed Jimmie. “They don’t have to pull it off every night. They only put the play on when there’s an audience.”
“An audience?” repeated Carl. “How do they know they’ve got an audience?”
“Chump!” replied Jimmie scornfully. “Do you think any one can sail an aeroplane like the Ann over this country without its being seen? Of course they know they’ve got an audience.”
By this time the boys had advanced to the place where Sam was standing. They found that young man very much interested in the proceedings, and also very much inclined to silence.
“Did you see anything like that when you were here before?” asked Jimmie. “Did they put the same kind of a show on for you?”