“You certainly will,” declared Snackley. “I’m not going to let one of you have the chance of getting back to Bayport with your story.”
The chief of the smugglers stood in the center of the room for a while, contemplating his captives with a bitter smile. Then he turned suddenly on his heel.
“Well, they’re safe enough,” he said to Redhead. “We have that business with Burke to attend to. You two,” he said, speaking to two of his men, “had better go down to the cove and take the rowboat out. Signal to Li Chang that we need the motorboat sent in at once. The rest of you come and help load Burke’s truck. If any nosey policeman came along and found it in the lane we’d be done for.”
“How about them?” asked Redhead, indicating the prisoners.
“They’re safe enough. But I guess we’d better leave one guard, anyway. Malloy, you stay here and keep watch.”
Malloy, a surly and truculent fellow in overalls and a ragged sweater, nodded and sat down on a box near the door. This arrangement seemed to satisfy Snackley, and after warning Malloy not to fall asleep on the job and to see to it that the prisoners did not escape, he left the room, followed by Redhead and the other smugglers, with the exception of two who left by the other door. Their footsteps could be heard as they went down the flight of stairs leading to the bottom of the cliff.
A heavy silence fell over the room after the departure of the smugglers. Malloy crouched gloomily on the box, gazing blankly at the floor. The butt of a revolver projected from his hip pocket.
Frank strained against the ropes that bound him to the chair. But the smugglers had done their task well. He could scarcely budge.
“We’re done for, I guess,” he heard Joe say.
Frank seldom gave up heart, but this time he could see no ray of hope.