“Hush!” hissed Haywood. “Gag him quick, somebody!”
There was a violent, brief struggle, and Carlos was temporarily deprived of his power of speech.
“I don’t know as it is unlucky at all,” said Haywood, at length, and in a calmer tone. “This is a spy, boys, and he must be taken care of. There is no time to lose, for some deviltry is up. I wonder where that infernal light comes from?Take him in one of the boats, and make for the ship with all speed. Don’t kill him. I want something of him. Stand off at sea until to-morrow, and I’ll try and communicate with you. If you can’t do any better, make for some port—New York, Norfolk, Charleston—anywhere. But be off quick. Roake and I will see to the goods.”
Haywood had delivered his directions in a hurried, excited tone, in almost ludicrous contrast with his usual sedate manner, and, with the last words, hurried into the cavern.
The four remaining men forced Carlos to accompany them to the shore and into one of the boats. Here he was bound with ropes and flung into the hold of the larger yacht.
The light from the cliff still shone with unabated brightness, casting a glimmer over the sea, and giving to the crests of the waves a scintillating brilliancy. The rain drizzled down, and the air had lost nothing of its chilliness.
The sails of the yachts were hoisted, two men having taken possession of each boat, and the four smugglers, with their prisoner, put out to sea.
After a few moments one of the men removed the gag from Carlos’ mouth, and said:
“Say, stranger, what’s the occasion of that blasted light on the bluff?”
“I haven’t the least idea,” answered Carlos.