“Our chance to escape has come!” he exclaimed.
“How do you make that out?” asked Mr. Chillingworth listlessly.
For reply Tom drew out his pistol.
“We can make Lake prisoner on his return,” he said eagerly, “and then make our way across the island to the cove in which, as he told us, he had hidden the boat.”
“Good gracious boy!” cried the professor excitedly. “That’s a good idea. A splendid one, but—what about my boy?”
Tom, who in his excitement had quite forgotten that the son and heir of the Dingle fortunes was in the care of Zeb Hunt, looked thoughtful.
“Of course, we must get him,” he said. “I’ll tell you,” he cried, his eyes flashing at the adventurous daring of the plan he was about to propose, “we’ll make Lake prisoner and take him along with us. With him in our power, we will be in a position to make terms with the rascals. We can conceal him somewhere and refuse to give him up till we get our liberty and the boy.”
Perhaps to any one less desperately situated the plan would have appealed only as the forlornest kind of a forlorn hope. But to our party it seemed feasible, and even excellently practicable.
But as they stood discussing it in the cave mouth, there came a sudden blinding flash of lightning. Involuntarily they all stepped back within the cavern. The clap of thunder that followed the electrical display shook the cliff till it vibrated again.
“Wow! this is a real storm, sure enough!” exclaimed Tom. “I never saw such lightning.”