chine," he declared, looking up. "We can start any time."
"Your father let you have the boat, all right."
"You bet. I told him it was to help find your father, and he was almost going to quit work and come along with us."
The boys got into the motorboat, which was a rangy, powerful craft with graceful lines, and the engine was soon roaring. The boat, which was called the Napoli in honor of Mr. Prito's birthplace in Italy, moved slowly out into the waters of the bay and then gathered speed as it headed toward the gloomy cliffs at the northern extremity of Barmet Bay.
It was already late in the afternoon. The sky was overcast and the bay was rough. The salt spray dashed over the bows of the Napoli as it plunged on through the breakers. Bayport soon became a smoky haze on the hillside. The boys could see the white line of the shore road rising and falling on the coast to the north and at last they came within sight of the Kane farm, nestled among the trees.
The cliff upon which the Polucca place stood was stark and sheer against the background of ocean and sky, and at the top they could see the grove of trees and the roof and chimneys of the haunted house.
"Lonely looking place," remarked Joe.
