A WICKED PLAN
How Cummings came to be acting as the rascally Jarrold’s agent is easily
explained. After he was discharged from the _Tropic Queen_ at Jack’s
behest, he had drifted about seeking any sort of a job. In this way he
discovered that a yacht called the _Endymion_ was being fitted out for a
mysterious voyage.
There were several things about the _Endymion_ and her crew that had
prevented other wireless operators from accepting a berth on her.
No information was forthcoming as to the nature of her cruise or its
destination or even who the owner was.
But Cummings was not particular. He met Jarrold on board and after an
interview with the master rogue, in which he bound himself to ask no
questions but obey orders, he found himself signed on as the yacht’s
wireless man.
The _Endymion_, as we know, was a much faster boat than the _Tropic
Queen_, and had arrived in Kingston, after her mysterious maneuvering on
the voyage south, a day ahead of the liner, slipping in almost unnoticed
and docking at a remote pier. As soon as the _Tropic Queen_ docked,
Jarrold, to whom alone these arrangements were known, hastened to the
_Endymion_. He found Cummings and assigned to him the job of getting
Jack Ready into his power. Cummings would have obeyed Jarrold anyhow,
but the work given him held an added relish, for it afforded him an
opportunity to take revenge on the lad whom he hated with a malicious
envy.
As the auto sped along the road, passing few people and those, country
negroes driving donkeys laden with produce for the Kingston market,
Cummings related with great glee to Jarrold the manner in which he had
tricked Jack into taking the drugged drink.
“I’ll take good care of you for putting the job through as you did,”
Jarrold assured the treacherous youth. “With that young meddler out of
the way, I’ll accomplish what I set out to do before the _Tropic Queen_
reaches Panama.”
“Do you still intend to transfer to the _Endymion_ as soon as you have
the papers in your possession?” asked Cummings.
“Yes. I shall signal you by the red flash.”
“By the way, what happened to your apparatus the last time we exchanged
signals?” asked Cummings, recalling the night that Jack played his
memorable trick and cut off the current by which Jarrold was working his
flash lamp.
“I don’t know, but I suspect that young jackanapes back there of having
something to do with it,” was the reply.
“Well, you won’t be bothered with him now,” said Cummings.
“No; by the time he gets out of the Lion’s Mouth the _Tropic Queen_ will
be far out at sea,” chuckled Jarrold.
“How did you ever come to locate the Lion’s Mouth, as you call it?”
asked Cummings with some curiosity.
“Many years ago, when I was in Jamaica for—well, never mind what
purpose—an old voodoo negro showed me the place. It forms part of the
ruins of an old Spanish castle, and there is a legend that the old Don
who once owned it kept lions in it for his amusement. Any one he didn’t
like, he’d let the lions make a meal of. Nice old gentleman, wasn’t he?”
Cummings joined in Jarrold’s laugh at his own grim humor.
The road began to grow rougher and Jarrold had all he could do to keep
the machine in the track. He had no more opportunity to talk. Rocky
walls shot up on one side of the thoroughfare, and on the other a steep
precipice tumbled sheer down to the sea, which broke in roaring masses
of spray at its foot.
It was a scene of gloomy magnificence in which the modern car with its
red trimmings and snorting engine seemed strangely out of place. At
length they came to a spot where a ravine ran back from the sea,
splitting the towering rock masses and spanned by a narrow bridge.
Jarrold turned the car aside and ran it some distance back into a track
that wound along one side of the deep cleft, at the bottom of which the
sea boiled and roared.
Cummings peered over somewhat fearfully into the dark depths.
“The sea pours into that ravine, and then at high water empties into a
hole in the earth that penetrates nobody knows how deeply into the
bowels of the island,” said Jarrold.
“Has nobody ever explored it?” asked Cummings, unconsciously sinking his
voice.
“Yes, some explorers fitted up a boat once and announced that they were
going to enter the ravine, and thence penetrate into the unexplored
cavern where the waters disappear,” was the reply.
“And what did they find?” asked Cummings.
“Well, they never came back to tell,” rejoined Jarrold, with grim
jocularity.
He brought the car to a sudden stop. A sheer wall of rock shot up before
them. It was the end of the giant cleft in the earth. There were steps
cut in the forbidding acclivity and on a platform far above were traces
of ruined buildings.
“That’s what is left of the old Don’s castle, up there yonder,” said
Jarrold, pointing.
“And the Lion’s Mouth is up there?” asked Cummings.
Jarrold nodded.
“That’s the place,” he said.