So much depended on their escape that the lads were uncannily silent. They seemed like mere shadows as they progressed, one by one, to the mouth of the cave. There was not a sound. The snores of the sleeping gangsters were unbroken.
Frank waited at the entrance. Chet joined him in a few moments. Then came Biff, and finally Joe. Safely out of the cave, the boys halted for a second on the rocks.
"I'll take the lead," whispered Frank. "Join hands and follow me."
It was pitch dark and the rocky path to the outskirts of the wood, he knew, would be treacherous. He reached back and grasped Chet's hand. Then he moved forward, carefully testing every step. On him depended the success of their flight to the wood. One stumble, one dislodged rock, might ruin everything.
Step by step, he moved cautiously forward. He had a good idea of where the woods trail opened, and he made toward it. Once they reached the trail he felt sure they would be safe.
Frank had an idea. He stopped and turned to the others.
"If anything happens," he said, in a low voice, "don't stick together. Scatter and try to make for the boat. Even if only one of us makes it he'll be able to get to the mainland."
The others whispered assent. He turned and proceeded across the rocks.
This safeguard, he felt, was wise. In case the gangsters discovered their escape they would prevent a repetition of the previous occurrence. In the darkness it was entirely probable that at least one, if not more, would be able to evade recapture.
But as he went on, his hopes rose. There was still not a sound from the cave in the rock. The darkness was in heavy silence.