The revenue cutter was on patrol duty, but so far its quarry had, by virtue of a system of signals from allies on shore, eluded capture; with its gray hull, its absence of lights, its quiet and speedy engines, the light-draught craft had been able to slip into hiding while its cargo was transferred to shore, whence the Indians in the extensive gang would convey it in their canoes to a northern point in Florida where trucks could receive the cases of illicit liquor.
“I wish there was some way for us to capture these fellows,” said Tom. Now that he knew that there was nothing ghostly or unnatural about the band, he was his usual, cool, calm self. Nicky and Cliff echoed his wish, in low tones. But they had no time for speculation or planning. The ape-like man appeared in the forecastle companionway and beckoned abruptly.
They followed him along a narrow deck to the dark cabin and went in. After passing through heavy sacking, double-thick, which served to block the passage of the least rays of light to the outer world, they found themselves in a long, quite roomy cabin, with a small electric dome light giving enough light to show the heavy black curtains tightly fastened over the circular ports, or windows. Well furnished with several easy chairs of rattan, with bunks that folded into the woodwork of the side walls and left a cushioned seat for use when they were not open, and with a veritable arsenal of automatic revolvers, rifles and knives of many shapes on the shelves of a cupboard at one end, the cabin looked both comfortable and dangerous.
A tall, slender man was replacing some weapon in the cupboard.
He turned as the chums entered; their guide stood blocking the doorway behind them.
The occupant of the cabin was of a Spanish type, with dark skin and sharp, black eyes, as black as his smoothly brushed hair. His movements were abrupt and nervous and his voice, when he spoke was curt and rather high in pitch, though kept at a low level of volume.
“Sit!” said the tall man, motioning toward the wall benches; the chums obeyed while the tall one dropped into a rattan chair and regarded them steadily.
“You came here to get buried treasure,” said the man in the chair. “Who told you there was treasure here?”
Nicky became the spokesman and related the story; he told how they had been cruising toward the Ten Thousand Island Archipelago.
“For why?” demanded their inquisitor sharply.