“It seems so to me,” said the inventor, nodding with vigor.
Inspector Burton was thoughtful. The others remained silent, waiting for him to speak.
“I believe you are correct,” he said at length. “Ensign Warwick, what do you say?”
“It certainly looks as if Santa Cruz is the smugglers’ hangout.”
“And you, Mr. Temple?”
The latter smiled and shook his head.
“I have no opinion one way or the other,” he said.
Then Inspector Burton turned to the boys.
“Well, lads,” he said. “I have a proposition to make to you. I really believe we have located the smugglers’ hangout; that it is on Santa Cruz Island. And, while it is a big island, yet the smugglers’ headquarters undoubtedly must be on the seaward side, as I earlier explained, and there are not many places on that rocky shore where a landing could be made.
“I was fortunate on arrival yesterday to get in touch with an old Mexicano, a native of this country, who at one time many years ago tended cattle on Santa Cruz Island when an early-day rancher attempted to maintain a cattle ranch there. He found the grazing too poor to make the venture profitable and gave up his project. This old fellow, whom I located down in the Mexican quarter of the town, gave me much valuable information.