Once this bearing had been taken, the motor boat was headed in straight for the cliff at a smart speed.
“Looks like he means to run bang into the cliff,” commented Nat to himself, as, with no abatement of speed the black craft rushed onward toward the wall of solid rock.
But, just as it appeared as if Nat’s surmise might be verified, something occurred which the boy, familiar as he was with the coast, would never have suspected to be possible. Before them loomed an opening in the cliff, rising in a horseshoe shape above the sea level. It was partially screened from seaward by some clumps of trailing bushes, but was plainly enough to be seen on close inspection.
“It’s a cave!” exclaimed Nat under his breath. “I’ve heard of such places along the coast here in the limestone cliffs, but this is the first one I’ve seen.”
In spite of his precarious and uncertain position, Nat felt a keen interest as old Harley’s craft headed straight for the cave mouth. In another moment it had penetrated the dark entrance and was within the natural tunnel. There was a click and sputter of blue flame from forward and a scimitar of brilliant light slashed the curtain of gloom within. It came from the motor boat’s powerful searchlight.
“Well, at any rate, this is a novel experience,” thought Nat to himself, as, moving swiftly, the craft on which he was held prisoner still kept her headway. It was plain enough that old Harley knew the cave well, and perhaps in this lay the secret of some of his seemingly miraculous escapes from officers despatched to look for him. At such times he vanished mysteriously and did not reappear till public sentiment had died down and his case had been “fixed” by his political friends.
The end of this strange journey was evidently close at hand.
The boat’s pace decreased and then came another sharp command:
The light flashed on a sort of platform of rock ahead of them, a natural dock in this subterranean harbor. The white rays showed numerous bales and boxes piled all about and also a rough sort of table with tin cups and dishes on it, and in one corner, blackened with smoke, was a pile of rocks apparently dedicated to use as a cooking range.
“Well, of all the odd adventures,” thought Nat to himself as the motor craft was run alongside the rock shelf, “this is the queerest I’ve encountered, and all within striking distance of home, too, that’s the strangest part of it.”