Lunch was served at two o'clock, but Tom's appetite was gone.
"Shall we soon be there?" he asked.
"In about another hour," replied the steward civilly, but he beat a hasty retreat to avoid any further inquiries.
An hour went by. Tom walked restlessly up and down in his tiny cabin. Then bit by bit a high mountain ridge came in sight about a thousand yards away, and a little later, when the yacht had slackened speed, a steep arid coast in some parts covered with tall firs, and then a wide valley with lighter foliage in the background. The engines stopped, and the yacht anchored about a hundred yards from a dilapidated wooden pier. The "Ariadne" had reached her goal.
So this was Hurricane Island, and over there the "Black Valley"? On the left Tom noticed a jumble of sheds and chimneys.
The wharf mentioned was a very simple affair, there was no work going on, but a score of men came out on the quay, from mere curiosity. At some distance down the valley could be seen a skeleton swing-bridge, leading into a dark hole on the mountain side; this was the deserted copper mine; but, save for this reminder of bygone industry, the surrounding country was desolate.
A large motor boat came out from the quay, and when it got alongside the "Ariadne" Tom noticed at the wheel a man who might have been the foreman of the wharf. He had evidently come to welcome his employers. The boat slipped round to the bow of the yacht and the Captain shouted from the bridge:
"Mr. Dixon is engaged, but lay to and come on board."
There was a high sea and the yacht rocked considerably. Things began to be very lively on deck and Tom wondered what was going on.
The steward came in hurriedly to remove the luncheon tray, and Tom had a shock.