“But where are the girls?” asked Paul. “We must find them.”
“Perhaps they went up to the cave Cora found,” suggested Walter. “Let’s go there and look.”
“First we’d better see if Jack doesn’t need help,” Paul said. “I guess the girls know enough to keep out of danger, and it’s daylight yet. We’ll go to Jack.”
“I’ll take charge here,” said Mr. Floyd. “I’ve got a man working with me at the other bungalow, and he and I will stand guard over the auto. When you come back, if the girls haven’t returned, we’ll go after them.”
This plan was deemed the best to follow, and Paul and Walter hastened back on foot to the cave where they had left Jack.
Cora and her friends, made prisoners in the cave by the old man and his horrible, grinning, half-witted helper, felt faint and sick as they realized what might be the outcome. For a moment none of them spoke. The old man laughed, showing his blackened teeth—a strange contrast to his white beard—and then he chuckled:
“Police spies; eh? Come to catch the old man! But he was too smart for ye; wasn’t he? He caught you; didn’t he?”
“What do you mean by locking us in?” demanded Cora. “Open that door at once and let us go!”
“And call away that—that horrid idiot!” half-sobbed Belle. “If he catches hold of me——”
“Oh, Bombee won’t hurt you; will you, Bombee?” said the old man, patting the half-witted youth on the head. “That is, he won’t if you do as I say, and don’t try to run. Bombee’s like a dog. He’s my pet, so he is. Hi, Bombee! Do a trick for the ladies!”