Sitting on the other side of the rock, calmly smoking a cigar, was a middle-aged individual in a tweed coat and a soft hat.

The creek, which they had imagined was their private paradise, was occupied after all.
Delia fled back to her friends, this time on wings of fright, and communicated her awful discovery.
"It must be Count Sutri," gasped Peachy.
"He can't have started off in his yacht after all," agreed Irene.
"I don't _think_ he saw me, but I'm not sure about it," panted Delia breathlessly.
"Whether he did or he didn't we'd better scoot quick," opined Peachy.
So three agitated girls dashed back over the sands and into the dark tunnel, and hurried as fast as they could up the underground passage, expecting every moment to hear a footstep behind them and a voice demanding to know what they were doing trespassing upon the premises.

At the top of the tunnel a horrible surprise awaited them.

The door through which they had entered was shut and bolted.

At first they could hardly believe their ill luck.