“Why didn’t we think before of going to the island?” asked Andy, as he and his brother sat in the train on the way to Mardene.

“Give it up,” answered Frank. “But, as the captain says, it would be just the place for a criminal to hide. Hardly any boats stop there if they can help it, unless they want shelter from a storm, and it’s out of the line of regular travel. Still, we may not find our man there.”

“Yes, but it’s a good chance. There’s a fine wind to-day, and we oughtn’t to be a great while running to the island.”

The brothers discussed the curious case into which they had been drawn since rescuing Paul Gale, and they talked about the island.

Its name came from the fact that, situated in the center of it, there was a high rocky cliff. There were several caves running under this cliff, hollowed out by natural means, and rumor had it that, in the early days, sea rovers and pirates used them as places of refuge, or to hide their ill-gotten plunder.

No one had been able to confirm this, however, though it was not for want of trying, as our heroes, as well as several other boys, had paid a number of visits to the island.

But they found no traces of pieces of eight or Spanish doubloons, and, truth to tell, the caves were not very inviting places, being damp and dark, so the lads never penetrated very deeply. Thus Cliff Island was not very well known. It was a desolate, barren sort of place, wind and storm swept, and the abiding place of innumerable gulls.

“I tell you what we ought to do,” remarked Andy, as the train neared their destination.

“What’s that? Not play any more jokes I hope.” And Frank smiled as he looked at his brother.

“No, I mean about this chase. We ought to arrange to stay on the island for several days—sort of camp there. It’s so big and so irregular in shape, and with so many caves, that we can’t go all over it in one day. And there’s no telling where that man may be hiding.”

“That’s so. Then you think we’d better stock up with grub, and make it a sort of picnic?”

“I do. We can telephone word home of what we’re going to do, so they won’t worry. It will be fun, even if we don’t find any clues of the mysterious man.”

“I’m with you. We can buy our grub in Mardene and stock our boat. Then for ‘a life on the ocean wave, a home on the bounding deep,’” quoted Frank, in a sing-song voice.

The Gull was tied up in a small slip where they had left her, and the provisions were soon put aboard. Then the two brothers went over every rope and sail, to make sure they would serve in the strain of a storm.

“Well, guess we might as well pull out,” remarked Frank, as he looked up at the “tattletale,” or piece of triangular bunting flying from the mast to tell the direction of the wind. “We’ve got a good breeze now. I hope it holds.”

“Wait just a minute,” begged Andy. “I want to take a look at that motor boat,” and he motioned to a large one that was tied near the sailboat. “I wish we had one like that. It’s a beaut!”

No one was near the craft and soon Andy was in it, inspecting her critically. Frank saw him handling some of the wires that ran to spark plugs in the four cylinder heads.

“Better let things alone,” cautioned the older Racer lad. “You might get something out of order.”

“I just thought of a little joke I can play on the fellow who owns this,” chuckled Andy, as he disconnected one of the high-tension cables.

“Oh you and your jokes............