He was very tall and he wore a black felt hat, the wide brim of which obscured the upper part of his face. His countenance was tanned and weatherbeaten, his lips were thin and cruel. He wore a short black jacket, and he stood with his hands plunged into the side-pockets and his feet spread wide apart, in the manner of a seaman. He was standing there quietly, gazing at them without a shadow of expression on his sinister face, as motionless as a statue. When he saw that he was observed he called out: “Leave this place!” Tony throttled down the engine. The three boys stared at the man in the black hat as though he were an apparition. “Leave this place!” he repeated, in a curiously metallic voice. “We aren’t doing any harm,” replied Frank. “Not now,” said the stranger. “But don’t land here.” “Why?” “You don’t have to ask why. This is private property. You can’t land here. You’d better leave at once.” The boys hesitated. As though to emphasize his commands, the man in the black hat reached suddenly into his pocket and whipped out a wicked-looking revolver. Then he folded his arms, tapping the barrel of the revolver against one shoulder very deliberately. “Turn that boat around and get out of here!” he snapped. “Don’t come back. Don’t ever come back. Don’t ever try to land here. This is private property. If you ever _do_ land here you’ll be shot.” The boys were unarmed. They realized that nothing would be gained by argument. Tony slowly brought the boat around. “Good-bye,” shouted Joe cheerfully. The stranger did not reply. He stood there, gazing fixedly after them, his arms still folded, still tapping the revolver against his shoulder as the motorboat made its way out of the strange bay, out into open water. “Looks as if he didn’t want us around,” remarked Tony, as soon as the _Napoli_ was out of the cove. “I’ll say he didn’t!” exclaimed Frank. “What a wicked-looking customer he was! I expected to see him start popping at us with that gun of his before we got out.” “I don’t want to run into _him_ again,” Joe declared. “He sure gave us our orders. And he meant ’em, too.” “I wonder who he is,” said Tony. “Do you think—Fellows! do you think it could have been Snackley?” shouted Frank. CHAPTER XV SMUGGLERS The thought struck Frank Hardy like a thunderbolt! The appearance of the stranger had been so sinister, he was so evidently a lawless and desperate man who was accustomed to being obeyed, and his presence in this place indicated too clearly that he had some connection with the house on the cliff, that Frank’s deduction seemed quite logical. “Snackley!” exclaimed Joe. “It _must_ be him.” “The head of the smugglers!” “I’ve never seen a picture of Snackley and I’ve never heard him described,” said Joe. “But that fellow looks just as I had pictured Snackley would look.” “He’s a leader of some kind—you can tell that by his manner,” put in Tony Prito.