The Secret of the Caves by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

age. He had a look of surprise on his good-natured countenance.
    â€œMr. John Donachie?” Frank asked.
    â€œCorrect. What can I do for you boys?” he inquired.
    â€œMay we leave our cars here for a while?” Frank asked.
    â€œSure. For an hour or so?”
    â€œPerhaps for a few days,” Frank replied.
    The fisherman’s expression changed instantly to one of concern. “You’re not goin’ over to the caves are you?”
    When Frank said Yes, the man shook his head gravely. “You’d best be goin’ back home,” he warned. “There’s strange doin’s in the caves these days. It’s no place for boys like you.”
    The fisherman was joined by his plump, rosy-faced wife, who repeated the admonition.
    Frank felt his spine tingle. His hunch persisted that Cadmus Quill might be mixed up in the mysterious occurrences at Honeycomb Caves.
    â€œWhat’s been going on there?” Frank pressed.
    â€œLights mostly and shootin’.”
    â€œHaven’t any people been seen?”
    â€œNot a livin’ soul.”
    â€œThat’s strange,” Chet said.
    â€œStrange ain’t the word for it,” declared the fisherman. “It’s downright spooky, like ghosts or somethin’.”
    â€œHave you been down to the caves yourself, Mr. Donachie?” Frank asked.
    â€œJust call me Johnny.” The fisherman said that a few days before, his boat was washed ashore there in a squall. “When I got back in the sea again,” he went on, “I saw a couple o’ lights down near the caves. Next I heard two or three shots and then a yell.”
    â€œA yell?” Frank asked.
    â€œThe most awful screechin’ I ever heard,” the fisherman said.
    â€œWell, that proves somebody’s there,” Biff remarked.
    Despite the Donachies’ warnings, the boys were determined to set out.
    â€œCan you show us the quickest route?” Joe asked.
    With a resigned look, the fisherman led the boys a short distance along the beach and pointed to the path leading up the hill. “You’ll have to follow that to the top of the cliffs. From there look for a deep ravine. That’ll take you down to the caves.”
    The campers thanked the couple, and with knapsacks and blanket rolls over their shoulders, began the ascent. The hill was steeper than it looked and it was more than an hour before the boys reached the summit.
    Here a magnificent view awaited them. Far below lay the fisherman’s cottage like a toy house. The ocean was a flat blue floor.
    Venturing close to the edge of the cliff, Joe peered over. He saw a sheer wall of rock with a few scrubby outcroppings of gnarled bushes.
    â€œNo wonder the caves can’t be reached by skirting the shore,” Joe said. “The only way along the base of the cliff is by boat.”
    Chet looked up at the sky. “Come on, fellows,” he said. “We can’t afford to lose any time. We’re in for a storm.” The breeze bore to their ears the rumble of distant thunder.
    â€œChet’s right,” Joe said. “These squalls come up suddenly. Let’s move!”
    Without further ado, the boys hastened along the faint trail that led among the rocks. They could see no sign of the ravine, but judged that it would be almost invisible until they came upon it.
    A few raindrops hit the faces of the boys as they plodded on. Flashes of lightning zigzagged across the darkening sky, followed by a terrific thunder-clap. Then rain started falling heavily.
    The wind rose, and far below, the surf boomed and crashed against the base of the cliff. The foursome stumbled on, scarcely able to follow the path in the gloom. The wind howled, lightning flashed, and thunder crashed constantly.
    With Frank in the lead, the boys plunged forward into the streaming wall of rain. Chet and Biff were next and Joe brought up the rear. On and on they went, heads bent to the