“Yes,” said Matt, “and the light and him sunk right down and never come up again.”
The result of the information thus communicated was to leave the young man of the caravan far more curious than ever. He determined to turn the tables on William Jones, and to watch his movements, not in the daytime, but during the summer night, waiting for his appearance in the immediate neighbourhood of the Devil’s Cauldron.
The first night he saw nothing—it was stormy, with wild gusts of rain. The second night was equally uneventful. Nothing daunted, he went for a third and last time, and lay in the moonlight on the cliffs, looking towards the village.
The night was dark and cloudy, but from time to time the moon came out with sudden brilliance on the sea, which was gently stirred by a breeze from the land.
He waited for several hours. About midnight he rose to go home. As he did so he was startled by the sound of oars, and lying down perceived a small boat approaching on a silver patch of moonlit sea.
The moon came out, and he saw that the occupant of the boat was a solitary man.
It approached rapidly, making direct for the Devil’s Cauldron. Lying down on his face and peeping over, Brinkley saw it stop short just outside the foaming passage, while the man stood up, stooped, lifted something heavy from the bottom, and threw it overboard. Then, after watching for a moment a dark object which drifted shoreward, right into the Cauldron, he rowed away until he reached a sheltered creek close to the scene of the swimming adventure. Here he ran the boat ashore and leapt out.
The next minute Brinkley heard him coming up the cliffs, trembling with excitement he lay down flat on his face and waited. Presently the man emerged on the top of the cliffs, within a few yards of Brinkley’s hiding-place. Just then the moon flashed brightly out, and Brinkley recognized him.
It was William Jones, carrying on his shoulders something like a loaded sack, and dangling from his left wrist, a horn lantern.