"You say the last entry is June 7th?" asked Barnett, as the boat entered the light surf.
"That was the night we saw the last glow, and the big burst from the volcano, wasn't it?"
"The island would have been badly shaken up."
"Not so violently but that the flag-pole stood," said the captain.
"That's true, sir. But there's been a good deal of volcanic gas going. The man's been
penned up for four days."
"Give the fellow a chance," growled Trendon. "Air may be all right in the cave. Good
water there, too. Says so himself. By Slade's account he's a pretty capable citizen when it
comes to looking after himself. Wouldn't wonder if we'd find him fit as a fiddle."
"There was no clue to Ives and McGuire?" asked Barnett presently.
"None." It was the captain who answered.
The gig grated, and the tide being high, they waded to the base of the cliff, Barnett
carrying his precious explosives aloft in his arms.
"Here's the spot," said the captain. "See where the water goes in through those crevices."
"Opening at the top, too," said Trendon.
He let out his bellow, roaring Darrow's name.
"I doubt if you could project your voice far into a cave thus blocked," said Captain
Parkinson. "We'll try this."
He drew his revolver and fired. The men listened at the crevices of the rock. No sound
came from within.
"Your enterprise, Mr. Barnett," said the commander, with a gesture which turned over the
conduct of the affair to the torpedo expert.
Barnett examined the rocks with enthusiasm.
