“Why, of course, I had. William Jones has got ’em!”
“Has he? Where?”
“In his cave, I expect.”
“His cave! Where is that?” asked Brinkley, becoming very much interested.
“Dunno,” returned Matt; “perhaps it’s somewhere hereabout. I’ve seen William Jones come about here, I have, but I never could track him!”
Matt’s information on the subject was so vague that it seemed useless to institute a search; so, after a regretful look at the rocks, Brinkley proposed that they should saunter back along the shore.
“By the way,” said he, “I want you to introduce me to William Jones.”
“To William Jones?”
“Yes. Strange as the fancy may seem to you, I should like for once in my life to stand face to face with a real live wrecker.”
They made their way back along the coast, until they reached William Jones’s cottage. Here they paused, principally for Brinkley to take a glance at the quaint dwelling, then they crossed the threshold. What sort of a place he had got into, it was utterly impossible for Brinkley to tell; it was so dark, he could see nothing. Having crossed the threshold, therefore, he paused; but Matt went fearlessly forward, struck a light, and ignited the rushlight on the table.