They made very little noise, and held their revolvers ready for use.
Reaching the top of an incline, similar in many respects to the one on which stood Winnsocket Lodge, they paused perplexed. The island was not a large one, and Chot felt that they must be in close proximity to the smugglers’ rendezvous.
“See!” whispered Hoki, suddenly. “Light!”
Following the direction of the Jap’s extended finger, Chot saw a yellow streak, seemingly in the ground a few yards distant. Closer examination, however, revealed a huge wooden door leading into the hillside, and peering through the crack Chot saw a sight which amazed as well as delighted him.
Sitting on a stool in one end of the apartment, his hands bound behind him, was Bert Creighton, while nearby, reading by an ill-smelling oil lamp, was a man—apparently the only member of the smuggler band left on the island.
“Hoki, when you open the door, I’ll rush in and cover him,” said Chot.
“With greatest of pleasure,” replied the little Jap, and seizing the huge door by a strap which hung outside, he gave a strong pull. The portal swung wide, and Chot, revolver in hand sprang through the opening into the smugglers’ chamber.
“Hands up!” he cried, covering the smuggler before the latter could make a move toward his own weapon.
“Chot!” cried Bert, starting up. “Hurrah!”
“Cut Bert loose, Hoki,” commanded Chot, still keeping his eye on the smuggler, who was so surprised he was for a moment speechless.