THE G-MAN’S SON
AT PORPOISE ISLAND

Copyright, 1937, by
THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY
MADE IN U. S. A.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I
At Black Cove

THE cabin sloop Water Witch had cleared Centerport harbor and was well out in the bay heading towards the Catlow, or “Off Shore,” Islands when the first strange incident happened which was to start the G-man’s son, Stanley Sandborn, and his lanky, dark-haired chum, John Tallman, off on an adventure which was both bizarre and dangerous. Stanley was the first to notice the swiftly approaching gray runabout speedboat.

“Look at that fellow come!” said Stanley. “He’s doing closer to fifty than forty knots and notice how low he is!”

“Sailing bluebirds, and slices of pickled onion!” cried John Tallman, exploding into one of his characteristic odd remarks. “You can hardly see him for spray!”

“And gray is an odd color for a yacht!” commented Stanley, pushing his mop of sandy hair back from his eyes, the better to study the form and speed of the racing boat which was now sweeping across the bows of the smoothly sailing sloop.

The Water Witch pitched and tossed in a moment or two as the wide “V” of the speedboat’s wake crossed the course of the sailboat. The rigging and sails of the black-hulled boat slatted and swayed drunkenly, then she steadied in the strong southwest breeze sweeping up the bay and continued her easy dip and roll through the waves of the open bay. The speedboat sped off towards the islands, almost silently, save for a low humming.

“More than one thing odd about that boat, John!” Stan remarked. “Extra speed, gray paint, and an underwater exhaust! If this were prohibition times I’d say—rum-runner!”

“Me too. Dunk me in the briny deep and hang me up to dry! Slide over the hamburgers, mates, but I’ve a hunch we haven’t seen the last of that craft!”

“Funny, John,” the G-man’s son said, half aloud, half to himself, “I’m thinking the same thing.”

John Tallman shrugged his shoulders, then laughed as cheerfully as he could.

“Trouble with us, Stan,” he said, “is that we’ve seen so much of speeding boats and water fights that we just jump to conclusions! Because we just spent the last week or so helping capture Dapper Dan Hogan and his gang and those other mobsters, we’ve got detecting and suspicion on the brain! Bluebottle flies and anthill creepers—let’s drop the subject! Me for coffee and doughnuts!”

“Attaboy, John,” laughed Stan. “Stir up some eats. We ought to be close to Porpoise Island by sunset!”

John watched the last white spray of the speedboat disappearing towards that very spot of the barely visible humps of the Off Shore Islands, a perplexed frown upon his lean features, then he ducked down into the cozy cabin of the sloop to dig up a snack of food for the famished boys, for they had been under way for hours now and were very hungry.

The trim and pretty Water Witch rolled along, dipping her lee rail in white water, for she was rather speedy and a good sailor, while Stan, at the wheel, peered across the water towards Porpoise Island where they planned to camp out for the next week or so, cruising betimes among the wooded, lonely Catlow Islands nearby. Certain of the outlying islands on the edge of the ocean were populous summer resorts and winter colonies and had a regular steamer traffic, but Porpoise Island and the close-by islets were rarely visited, if at all, being privately owned and plastered with “Keep-off” signs. The two boys, however, being bent merely on a little harmless pleasure, saw no harm in cruising among them, and perhaps pitching a tent on one of the beaches provided they did not trespass on the land itself.

They were particularly anxious to visit Black Cove, a little known and very snug small harbor which Mr. Sandborn, Stan’s father, had noticed on a chart while the boys and the G-man were poring over the marine maps of the bay and waters around the islands a few nights ago.

“There,” Mr. Sandborn had remarked, “is something to look into. I bet I’ve studied this chart dozens of times in the last ten years, boys, and cruised some about the islands, and I never happened to notice what a perfect little harbor Black Cove should be for a small boat like yours.”

He had pointed to the spot on the chart and shown the boys that the cove had a narrow but comparatively deep channel and that the center of the land-locked little harbor was a good twenty feet deep and had a dark loam bottom. Because of the dark mud and loam under the water there the water itself would seem almost black even on clear days, thus giving the cove its name, no doubt. This Mr. Sandborn surmised from past experiences with small anchorages and different types of sea bottom.

“Sounds mysterious, too,” John had interrupted, excitedly, that evening. “Rally round the saucepan, boys; the cook’s serving soup!”

Mr. Sandborn had been taking a well-earned vacation of a few days after the capture of the notorious gangsters, chiefly represented by Mr. Dapper Dan Hogan, in which event the two boys had had no small part. The Water Witch, you will remember, played a big part in the adventures attendant upon the pursuit and capture of the criminals as did also Stan’s and John’s bow and arrows. And during those few days the boys had been planning the cruise to the Catlow Islands.

It was a cruise they had had in mind ever since acquiring the Water Witch and save for the interference and subsequent capture of Hogan and the other gangsters, the boys would have made the big cruise sooner. Now they were making up for lost time. Below decks were their bows and arrows, cameras, including the special G-man camera Mr. Sandborn had loaned them in case—just in case—they might have use for it; their sleuthing paraphernalia of fingerprint powders, brushes, and magnifying glasses; some adventure books and boys’ magazines; lots and lots of food (for John was a prodigious eater!); charts of the waters they were entering for the first time; and the hundreds of items needed to make the trip an outstanding success. Bit by bit it had been stowed away, a task in itself considering the rather short length and small capacity of sloop. And in all her brave black top sides and green underbody, with the bullet holes from the big battle at Cedar Island all properly plugged and shipshape, the Water Witch had sailed out of Centerport Harbor, pleasure-bound.

The sun was dipping lower and lower as the boat covered the last long mile across the bay in the dying breeze. The aroma of delicious hot coffee came drifting back from the galley and John could be heard mumbling and humming an off-key tune. But for snitches of doughnuts as he was preparing the meal, the cook would have been able to sing right out!

At last came the welcome news to the helmsman that dinner, or supper, was ready.

“Call it anything you like, but serve it, Cookie!” Stan rejoined. “I’m about ready to gnaw a chunk out of this wheel!”

“Here you are! Why not lash the wheel, Skipper, and come below for eats?” queried John.

“O.k., be right down!”

With that Stan slipped a bit of roping over the spokes of the wheel and, jockeying the craft a bit to get the right pressure of the rudder, tightened a hitch about a cleat. He had already done the same with the main sheet and the keen little vessel now sailed along by herself on a fairly good course in what was left of the evening breeze while the Captain joined his cook below decks at a meal that was filling and appetizing. Rolls and butter, some canned beef with sauces, plenty of jam, a slice or two of cake, a few doughnuts, coffee, and a liberal glass of milk were enjoyed amidst much joking and fun. John was a “scream,” always thinking of some funny remark and keeping the more serious Stan in general good humor. They were just finishing supper when the Water Witch jolted hard to port, dumping the remains of the meal into John’s lap, for he sat on that side of the small portable table, and pitching Stan half onto his chum!

“Help!” cried John. “Bluebirds and fireflies—and bushels of grape-juice-biscuits! We’re wrecked, Skipper!”

Quickly, even as the Water Witch righted herself and the scraping sounds which had penetrated the interior of the sloop disappeared, the boys were in the cockpit staring wildly about!

Nothing greeted their startled eyes save the unruffled water of the bay, for the last of the breeze had died with the fast setting sun and only an occasional “cat’s-paw” disturbed the surface here and there. The sloop heeled slowly, creaking just a little, to one of these soft puffs of wind now.

“Well, tender chunks of jellybeans—what happened?” John wanted to know, scratching his head and running lean fingers through the dark hair, while his dark eyes pondered and stared.

“John, in the first place, we struck something that was submerged. Might have been a water-soaked log, or almost anything. Let’s take a bearing and see what the chart says. Should have five fathoms along here if my memory serves me!”

The chart showed six fathoms of water and there were no indications of rocks or obstructions of any other kind in the spot where the Water Witch had struck.

“I took a careful bearing from the trees on top of Porpoise Island, Stan,” John pointed out, “and another on the Centerport Watch Hill Tower that we can just see across the bay. The angle is a good one and I’m sure I got it right. Then whatever we struck is a ‘foreign body’——”

“Maybe the upper structure of some sunken ship, John!” Stan interrupted.

“Upper structure or keel, I don’t know, Stan, but—I do know that the last of my coffee soaked my pants!”

John went below to change into something dry and while he was there he quietly inspected the forepeak of the craft where the anchor cable was stored, and the spare sails and lines, and then peered under the cabin floor boards but found no signs of extra water. Evidently the ship had not been damaged by contact with whatever the object had been. In dry attire, John went back on deck and relieved his friend at the wheel.

Stan now went below and studied the charts for some minutes, coming back on deck after a short time and indicating the eastern tip of Porpoise Island. The long low island bore a faint resemblance, when seen from a distance, to the back of a sporting porpoise, hence its name, and the eastern tip was the “snout.”

“Keep clear of the snout there, John, by at least a hundred yards, because of low water and rocks, now that we’re getting in close, and put her on the other tack after we round the point.”

“Righto, Skipper. Blow me down, my hearties, and smack the main brace!”

Both boys peered curiously at the bushes and clusters of cedar trees and the few oaks covering the slopes of the island as the boat sailed slowly, half-drifting, past the snout and they were able to see the seaward or southern side of the island. Black Cove should be about a half mile down that side and the angle of entrance was so sharp that the boys actually sailed past without spotting the opening! It was Stan who first detected their mistake.

“John, we’ve gone past the entrance to Black Cove, I’m sure. It’s getting so dark I can hardly see a thing, anyhow and we’ve sure missed it!”

It was indeed getting dark in spite of the lingering twilight and the Water Witch swung about and back, feeling the strength of a brisk night breeze now springing up. The breeze might last an hour or less and they must make the cove before it died again. Intent, anxious, Stan stood by the mast of the boat, peering sharply ahead as the heeling sloop closed in with the island, risking danger among the scattered rocks, to find the clear, deep entrance to the harbor.

Suddenly Stan cried out and pointed!

A bright light had flickered for an instant or two somewhere on the island and the way in which it had disappeared caused Stan to say, “That light was on the far side of the cove, John, I’m sure, and it was the eastern edge or hill at the entrance that cut it off! Ease off the sheet and head for there!”

John did as Stan said, for he had great confidence in his chum’s ability and hunches, and the Water Witch heeled lively and spryly right between two high banks of woods, through a clear channel into the darkness of the cove!

The light, which had been the cause of their success in finding the entrance, had gone and there was neither sight nor sound in the darkness. The hills seemed to surround the spot and the lighter blue of the sky overhead, now starlit, seemed to rest upon the edges of the hills.

“Pheww!” breathed John, deeply, from the wheel, as the sloop rounded to and the anchor was dropped with a low splash into the deep waters. “This place gives me the honorable creeps! Creeping skeletons, and bleached bones—I’d rather go to live with Blackbeard the Pirate than spend the night in Black Cove!”

“I’m afraid,” said Stan, and his voice was not too steady, “that we’re here to stay for the night—for I can’t even guess where the entrance is now!”

CHAPTER II
The Night in Black Cove

AS JOHN was afterwards to remark, that night in Black Cove turned out to be “A night as was a night!” The anchor had barely hit bottom when a flickering light, as from a half-covered flashlight appeared in the bushes of the Island. Stan gripped John’s arm suddenly.

“There’s that light again! Maybe we ought to shout a greeting——”

“Nix, Stan,” John whispered tersely. “I’ve a hunch this is a poor spot for innocent sailor men to be! Just keep mum.”

“Me too, now that I think about it! Look! The light is going up in the darkness!”

“What’s that?” queried John. “Do you hear it?”

Both boys listened, but Stan heard nothing save the water lapping the edges of the cove, which was about a quarter of a mile across, the sound carrying clearly on the night breeze which curved down over the bowl of hills and dipped cat’s-paws at the dark water. The same breeze made the trees sigh a little, and outside of that there was no other noise.

“I thought I heard a familiar sound, at least a sound I’ve heard before, like—look!”

The boys saw a shimmer of broken water as they turned about, attracted by a low humming!

“A boat, Stan, and crossing the cove at good speed, too! See, there he goes!”

A single blink of light came from the flashlight on the hill and Stan saw an answering blink from the boat. Then darkness enveloped all again and the hum was heard no more!

“This calls for a council and some thinking, John,” Stan said. “Come on below with me.”

He led the way down into the cabin while the Water Witch swung at her anchor, her sails flapping very softly in the night breeze. The little sloop had thick curtains, which he now drew over the cabin ports. Then he was heard to close the slide to the cabin entrance and come back down the steps. The sputter of a match in the darkness, and Stan was lighting one of the smaller cabin lights, which he set upon the cabin table upon which had been spread the chart of Porpoise Island and vicinity. There was a serious frown upon his features as the youthful skipper faced his chum across that table.

“Here’s the situation as I see it,” Stan said, speaking in a low voice. “This afternoon we saw a speedy motorboat of low, fast design, painted an inconspicuous gray and fitted with an almost silent exhaust, which disappeared round the snout of this island. Now we’ve come into Black Cove, a rarely visited spot, and find ourselves in the midst of symptoms of trouble—a fast, almost silent motorboat which comes in at night, blinking signals in answer to shore lights. Is this or is it not a dangerous spot? Are these innocent happenings, or should we get out of here and pronto?”

John considered the problem for a minute, for he knew Stan was in dead seriousness, and besides, he himself was creepy and scared.

“I’m inclined to think we can’t get out of here in the dark anyhow, Stan, so we’ll have to stay here——”

“It’s a cinch we’d have trouble finding the channel, as I said a few minutes ago on deck, John.”

“—And maybe daybreak will show us up as a couple of scatterbrained kids. Sweet spirits of the briny deep—why should anyone hurt us? We’re only bent on pleasure!”

Stan grinned wryly.

“Sure we’re only pleasure bent, but—what about our detective stuff, and just supposing that whoever is here is up to something evil and recognizes us as the two kids who got their pictures in the papers over the Hogan case?”

“You’re right, Stan. What’ll we do?”

“My idea is this, John. Let’s up anchor and move over under sail to the far side of this cove away from the lights we saw and stay there to-night. We’ll keep quiet, keep turns watching, and, unless some one starts something, we’ll let well enough alone till dawn.”

“I’d sure like to have my bow and arrows on watch, Stan! Remember how they worked against Hogan that night he tried to snoop around at the float-stage back in Centerport?”

They both grinned with delight at the remembrance of the snooper who dashed off in his boat, stung in the pants’ seat by a well aimed arrow! Stan nodded agreement to John’s suggestion of a defensive weapon, and they prepared to up anchor and cross the cove.

On deck they took their positions, Stan at the wheel and the main sheet, John at the jib and staysail sheets, and the anchor cables. Quietly Stan gave the command, and John hove in on the anchor. Slowly the dripping cable came inboard foot by foot, and was coiled on deck as the youth hauled at it, then it tightened as the anchor took up the slack. He heaved hard—but the anchor did not budge.

Again John tugged. The anchor refused to give way.

Nervous, John came aft and informed Stan of the situation.

“Try again, John,” Stan suggested. “Keep trying. We don’t want to lose that anchor. It ought to break out o.k. from a loam floor.”

Determined to get that anchor in, John heaved away, grunting, and—with a snap of release, the anchor broke ground! Up it came, and John hauled it wet and muddy on deck. As he did so he gave a low cry of surprise! But the sloop was heeling off now as the breeze filled the mainsail and John promptly “backed” the jib to help push the sloop onto a course and under way. In a minute or two the Water Witch was rippling to the opposite shore from the spot where the flashlight had glittered a short while before.

Close to the bank the anchor was again dropped overboard and the cable slacked off. With flapping sails, the sloop drifted off till the slack was taken up, then swung to the wind, at anchor. John said nothing about his discovery in the bows until the sails had been lowered and furled for the night, the strops tightened about the canvas, and the sheets belayed with plenty of slack in case of rain. The sky was clear and the stars glittered overhead, but a good seaman always leaves his running rigging slack at night, for rain would promptly tighten it and stretch the rope dangerously. All being snug now, the boys brought their bows and arrows up on deck, stowed them ready for instant use, placed a focusing flashlight handy, and held council in the cabin again. It was then that John Tallman went upon deck to return with something which he now handed to his friend.

“A brass fitting!” cried Stan, staring. “Where did you get it?”

“The anchor snagged on something in the cove, Stan, probably a sunken wreck, and I brought up this! Piece of brass trimming, isn’t it? Might be from a yacht?”

“It’s expensive, whatever it belongs to, John. Fancy trimmings at sea don’t appear on commercial ships. Yacht is the best guess! Wonder What a yacht is doing sunk in Black Cove?”

“Maybe that other thing we struck in the bay was part of a ship, Stan, too!”

“I doubt it, John. Probably just a half-submerged log. But this brass is definitely from a wreck, I figure.”

“Listen—What’s that?”

Voices and subdued noises took the boys to the deck at once, where they carefully shut the cabin slide to keep the light from showing while they peered across the water of the cove. There in the darkness a low boat of some kind appeared to have anchored, and men were moving about on it, for their footsteps on deck could be heard, and there were occasional flickerings of light as if a lantern were in use.

“Thank goodness for one thing, Stan, I don’t think we’ve been discovered, yet; do you?”

“No. What’s going on over there?”

“Shades of the Caspian Sea and blessings on thee little man, I wish I knew! Hear that low, throbbing sound, like a pump working?”

“Probably a salvaging job; but why at night, John?”

“Dear me, Oswald, old bean!” laughed John, “Why ask me? Your guess is as good as mine.”

The noises of whatever operation was under way continued for hours, and Stan went down to his bunk to sleep while John stood first watch. A low whistle was to be the signal for the G-man’s son to hurry to the deck should any attack or disturbance occur.

For a long while John sat huddled in the corner of the cockpit, thankful for the sweater he had slipped on, for summer was well advanced and the night cool. His bow and arrows were handy, and he watched what little could be seen of the strange things taking place across the water. He could be sure of nothing, and towards the latter part of his watch gave up guessing. Probably the men were salvaging the sunken ship if such the cove contained. Overhead the bright stars twinkled, and alongshore in the darkness the leaves switched in the breeze. John Tallman was not sorry when his radium-dialed watch showed midnight.

Sleepy-eyed, dog-tired, in spite of the excitement of wondering what the later hours might bring, the youth went below to wake Stan. He found that worthy half-awake, for the sandy-haired skipper of the Water Witch had slept poorly.

“I say, a cup of coffee and a doughnut, Stan!” John said, rubbing his eyes, and then his stomach. “Cockpits and maintops, but I’m hungry.”

They made coffee and munched doughnuts but said little about the strange surroundings. Stan went on deck then and, in his turn, listened to the sounds of work upon the surface of the cove. He came no nearer to a solution of the problem than had John, and went back to bed at four.

The dimly outlined boat moved off before dawn, and the slowly brightening sky of morning disclosed only a cool, deserted cove. The surrounding hills showed only trees, green and thick, right down to the water’s edge and, in most places, overlapping the water with widespread branches.

At breakfast, as the sun came over the eastern hill, the boys gave each other questioning looks.

“If I was not so sleepy, I’d swear I’d been asleep and dreamed the whole thing, Stan,” John said, yawning and looking longingly at his bunk. “Whatever and whoever was at the center of this cove last night is gone, now.”

“Get some sleep, John, and then we’ll put up our sails and find the entrance. I’m quite sure it’s just round that hill over there.”

“Righto, Skipper!”

And the rangy lad hit the bunk with a sigh of relief.

Stan worked about on deck, washing the sloop down, and glancing around from time to time with interest in the hopes of spotting life along the opposite shore.

He was thus engaged when curiosity got the better of him. He could never, he decided, sail out of Black Cove without an explanation of what he and John had seen and heard. He woke his chum about eight o’clock and suggested that they swim ashore and look Porpoise Island over.

At first John was reluctant, but he too was curious, and besides, the warm sunlight had robbed the pretty cove of its atmosphere of danger. They might be a couple of young fools, for all they knew, but they meant to find out. With the two boys, to come to a decision was to go into action, and they stripped, slipped into bathing togs, and went over-side at once. Quickly and with ease, for they were both fair swimmers, they covered the few yards of water, swimming in under the branches of the trees to the rich loamy shore, onto which they climbed.

Hearts thumping a little, they pushed through some bushes looking for a path. John was the first to cry out, being in the lead. Sure enough, there was a path! A little-used passage through the bushes and trees, it led them winding uphill, and they followed it silently with their bare feet making no sounds. At home in the woods as well as upon the water, the two boys moved onward, alert for anything!

But nothing happened, at least for a period of twenty minutes, during which time they passed several bypaths and went along seeing the glitter of the cove as they circled it. All of a sudden they came out of that path, through the bushes right smack into a clearing in which stood a trim cottage built of rustic materials. A well built dwelling, it gave hints of wealth, for it was furnished with modern windows and the latest type of weather-resisting roofing. A bright, new pump stood at a well near the door, and everything spoke of good upkeep. While the boys stood pop-eyed with wonder they saw no sign of life.

Then a soft voice broke the silence of enchantment.

“Well?” came the query.

Startled, they turned about to find, standing right behind them, a peculiar old man! The peculiar thing about him was the leathery skin of his face and the paleness of his gray eyes. It was a kindly appearing face but not one you would have liked. Something in the set of the smile and the paleness of those eyes would have warned you to be on the alert for—unsuspected danger!

“Well?” repeated the man, still smiling.

Stan and John knew that they were trespassing, and that made them feel guilty. Added to that was the odd feeling of danger. They exchanged glances of appraisal with the old fellow; then Stan spoke.

“That’s a peach of a cabin you have, Mister!”

The man’s face muscles, which had given an air of tenseness to his smile, now relaxed, and he said, “I’m glad you like it. I like it myself!”

“I don’t blame you!” Stan admitted. “By the way, we sailed into Black Cove last night not knowing anyone was around here——”

A look of surprise crossed the man’s tanned features. His smile disappeared for a moment.

“You sailed into Black Cove?”

“Yes; is that surprising?”

“Why, no, but——”

“Boss!” bellowed some one, and footsteps sounded in the path. “Boss! They’s a yacht anchored on the far side of the cove——!”

The owner of the voice appeared from the pathway and stopped, speechless before the boys and the old man. If the gray-eyed owner of the cabin was peculiar, tall, slender, and well dressed, the newcomer was just the opposite in appearance. Small-eyed, heavy-browed, and fat-faced, he was a disagreeable sort of chap. Apparently of foreign parentage, he was swarthy, and looked as though he had eaten a great deal for many years but never bothered to take a bath. His clothes hung baggy and unkempt, and he gave the air of being a blundering fool in action.

The old man glared for a split second at the fat one.

“Dago,” he said, “Meet my guests,——”

“I’m Stanley Sandborn, and this is John Tallman,” Stan introduced himself and his friend, and he had a feeling that he was known to the old man.

“Yes, I know,” responded their host, smiling again. “You see, I read the papers every day! You did a marvelous job in helping capture Mr. Hogan and his accomplices!”

“Boss—them’s the kids that caught Hogan?” demanded Dago. His red face spoke volumes.

“Dago is troubled with a bad heart, boys, and doubtless worries about his past,” explained the host. “I am Mr. Raymond Nevens, and Dago is my trusted man-of-all-work.”

“The kids what captured Hogan!” stuttered Dago; then he burst into a volley of strange oaths ending with, “Of all the blessed luck!”

With a lightning fling of a quickly balled right fist, Mr. Nevens struck out at Dago! The blow landed fairly, and the man-of-all-work went sprawling into the bushes!

CHAPTER III
The Strange Mr. Nevens

DAGO picked himself up, trembling a little, and the boys sensed a tautness in the relations of Mr. Nevens and the man, which was relieved as the old man turned to the boys, winking. He gave a sly indication of finger to forehead and his face grew sadly serious. But if Dago was to be supposed mentally unbalanced according to his employer, he was certainly sane enough to keep his peace and Mr. Nevens excused himself while he stepped to the side of the big man and gave him an order in a low voice.

“Yes, Mr.—Nevens,” the man responded with surly, glinting eyes and he moved off towards the house, to go indoors quickly.

“Dago is more to be pitied than scolded, boys,” said the charming Mr. Nevens, smiling, “but I keep him round here on odd jobs for he’s been with me many years. And now, I want you to be my guests for an hour or so. Will you come with me? I’ll show you interesting things.”

They nodded after a careful exchange of looks and followed their host down the slight grade to his cottage. The boys observed that, as they went down the path, the hills on the back of the spot rose well above them so that no hint of that habitation was given passing steamers outside in the bay or the ocean. It certainly was an excellent place for anyone, recluse or criminal. What an ideal spot for loafing and camping—a private cove, with a practically hidden channel, high surrounding hills, on an island known to be kept for private use!

“You own this island, Mr. Nevens?” asked Stan, as the man took them along a pretty flagstone path up to the front door of the rustic cabin.

“Yes, I do own it, boys. How do you like my little realm—what you have seen of it?”

“Swell, Mr. Nevens. But you must be lonely here, cut off from the rest of the world!”

The man continued to smile as he replied, “Not so very lonely, nor so very cut off from the world! I have my few close friends, my hobbies, and money enough to satisfy my modest whims.”

Was the wreck one of his “whims”? Stan wondered, and would have asked a tactful question about the nocturnal activities of the cove, but thought it better to hold his peace. If Mr. Nevens wished to talk about it some hint would be dropped, no doubt. In the meantime, if nothing was said by the wealthy host, the boys would wait patiently. If he were a criminal and the salvage, if such it be, criminal, time would prove it.

As the trio came up the path and approached the door Mr. Nevens’ spirits seemed to rise even higher than usual as do those of some one about to show you exciting things. The door opened at a slight touch of the fingers, a fact which startled both the lads. There was no knob or visible lock! If it had swung open without that deft touch it could have surprised them no more!

“Just an invention of mine,” Mr. Nevens said, noting the look of wonder upon their faces as they went into the cabin. “Touched in the right spot, this door opens without effort on the part of the person. It requires no lock of the usual kind, however, for I can, by throwing a switch seal it so that nothing except an explosive can budge it. I may some day give that secret door system to the world. By then, boys, I may, in fact, have perfected an ‘electric eye’ type of a practical kind which will open as you walk up to it.”

They found themselves in a large, open sort of room, luxuriously fitted with everything conducive to manly comfort. Lounges and big roomy armchairs were scattered about tastefully. There were ash trays in handy spots, a beautiful radio of the latest design, stacks of richly bound volumes—the whole giving one a startling realization of what money, in the hands of an eccentric or comfort-loving man, can do.

“My living room, boys,” said Mr. Nevens, obviously proud of the spot. “Now, here is the dining room—the kitchenette and Wan Ho Din, my cook!”

He had touched another door as he stepped forward and, as he spoke, they were led into a cozy room where a long table and many chairs told of company at the dinner table, and then into the white kitchenette with its refrigerator, special cooking range, and—Wan Ho Din, the cook! Wan Ho Din was yellow, slant-eyed, as was to be expected, and gave one an impression of bland, innocent kindliness. But a keen observer, as was Stan when suspicious, would have noted the same peculiar hint of watchful questioning and evil about the eyes. Wan Ho Din would bear watching, Stan decided.

“Boys like cookies?” asked Wan, offering them a dish of the tasty morsels. “Help self. Takum hand full!”

Stan took some and took a bite, then held the remainder in his hands to be eaten later. John, however, ate his at once, as was to be expected. Stan smiled to himself in amusement.

“And now to my laboratories and hobby rooms, boys,” said Mr. Nevens. “What are your hobbies, by the way?”

“We’re both keen on archery, Mr. Nevens,” Stan informed him. “We think sailing and camping is swell, and detective work is fun too. But we’ve had enough detectin’ for a while! This cruise we are on is one strictly of pleasure, if we can keep it so!”

Mr. Nevens’ eyes seemed to harden a bit, then they warmed again profusely. And all the while he maintained that contented, friendly smile which Stan so distrusted.

If Mr. Nevens’ cabin with its spacious living quarters and well-stocked larder was interesting, the laboratories were more so. To reach them the boys were taken down into the ground through a cement-lined walkway, brightly painted and lighted by indirect lighting, electrically. They were told that the electricity was from a dynamo, gasoline motor driven, that, from top to bottom, the place was electrically fitted with every comfort and convenience. The entrance into the laboratories was through a heavy, fire-proof, explosive-proof, water-tight door.

“Dynamite would not distort or open this door, nor could water get in, even under pressure, nor fire at 1,000 degrees burn through in less than twenty-four hours,” Mr. Nevens explained. “I have taken these precautions because I am working on many important discoveries and cannot afford to lose the result of years of work. See, here is a television set upon which I am working, built on a principle entirely new in the field. With it I hope to be able to show people in three dimensions upon a special ‘view-disk,’ or panel, instead of the two-dimensional scene of conventional models. My subjects would be rounded and natural instead of flat. And here is a device which, when perfected, will throw a stream of bullets in a carefully controlled sweep at previously unknown speeds and with terrible effectiveness. You see, I am interested in armaments——”

The look upon Stan’s face must have spoken volumes for the eccentric inventor hurried to say, “—Purely from a desire to invent so terrible a weapon eventually that warfare would be impossible without race suicide, boys. Unlike most Pacifists, I believe in fostering the arming of nations so that they will be armed to the teeth, all of them, and therefore afraid to start a war for fear of its consequences to all!”

They were then shown a number of other things in process of development, and still others were left unexplained, after which the party moved on to the exit and passage, up to the surface of the ground. What intrigued Stan was the number of passages honeycombing this underground retreat. No explanation for their presence was forthcoming and he made a mental note to investigate should need arise.

The exit on the surface came up in a glass-domed summerhouse in which were platforms of fine flowers, and a large and well-stocked aquarium. Mr. Nevens knew all of his plants and fishes well and they found him an interesting talker. From all indications he was well-traveled and well-informed. And on every side were indications of plenty of wealth.

After visiting the summerhouse, Stanley and John were escorted into the surrounding hills from whose summits they could see clearly in all directions along the back of the “porpoise” out to sea, and across the bay towards the distant spires and factory stacks and the Watch Tower Hill of Centerport. Paths in a veritable labyrinth of foot-ways radiated in and about the hills, but Mr. Nevens’ easy-going guidance gave hints that he was avoiding several by-ways purposely. What might some of these paths lead to? Stan meant to find out later!

The Water Witch was almost hidden on the far side of the cove against the background of trees and it certainly looked good. The entrance channel to the cove was seen as a narrow slit, cutting at an angle through the hills to the sea, and Stan made mental notes of its position. While they stood on a rock atop the highest hump of land, Mr. Nevens’ eyes rested rather long upon the moving form of a yacht which was coming in from the sea. White and shiny with brass work, the pleasure craft moved in the general direction of the island, though still some miles away.

“You will come back to see me again, boys, won’t you?” asked Mr. Nevens as they went down the hill. “I’ll show you my landing-stage and boat-house so that you’ll know where to tie up next time. You must come and spend a few days with me soon.”

This tactful remark could mean only one thing, since Mr. Nevens knew that the boys had intended staying in the cove longer than that one day. There was no alternative but to say what Stan now said.

“Certainly, Mr. Nevens. We’re pushing off now for a cruise further along but we’ll stop back next week if we get a chance!” Was the coming yacht bringing special visitors for the queer Mr. Nevens, and on criminal errands, since he wished the boys to move on now?

They were now shown the boat-house, a carefully laid out spot with a wide, high entrance into which a boat could come to land passengers and a mooring-stage beyond for bigger craft. The sudden disappearance of the speedboat of the previous night was now explained and Stan and John looked at each other with knowing grins.

At the mooring-stage was a fast-appearing speedboat of gray color and fast design, low in the water, with no visible exhaust, and fitted for luxurious water travel at high speed. The long, hooded middle section betrayed the huge, powerful engine hidden there. And in the “driver’s” seat sat a clean-shaven, uniformed attendant at ease, smoking a pipe quietly. Stan got an impression that the man was there in case of urgent need. Perhaps such a man was kept handy day and night!

Bidding their host at last good-day, the boys now went past the cabin, and up into the path round the cove. They wound along through the bushes a few minutes later, quietly, some sixth sense warning them not to comment on what they had seen and this caution was rewarded for, silently as they went in their bare feet, they came face to face with Dago! Startled, for he had apparently heard nothing of their approach, the swarthy fellow purpled and went pop-eyed. There was no doubt in the mind of the G-man’s son that Dago, insane or not, had a healthy fear of him and his friend and desired no part of their company.

“Hello, Mr. Dago,” John greeted him. “Nice here on the island, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s-a fine! I think I get along. Don’t see too much!”

And he was gone!

“‘Don’t see too much,’” echoed John.

“Evidently Dago speaks his thoughts out loud at times! John, he’s scared of us, for certain! I wonder if he really is insane?”

“Plump, juicy pineapples, and packages of bird seed, how do I know, Skipper?” John rejoined. “All I’m sure of is—I don’t trust him!”

“Quiet, John,” Stan cautioned, hoping their conversation had not been heard.

They returned by the path to the spot opposite the sloop, pushed down through the bushes to the water, plunged in and swam to the craft, hauling themselves aboard.

“Boy, what a relief to be back on the old Water Witch! Sides of bacon and rally round the gang-plank with a heigh-nonny nonny and a heave-ho-ho!” cried John. “Me for the pantry! Those cookies only made me more hungry.”

Stan went below behind John and both boys gave cries of astonished anger! The cabin had been ransacked! Everything was upside down! The G-man camera had been smashed! The fingerprint powders were scattered about. Papers, notes, books, and letters were spread about on the bunks and floor!

“Dago!” cried John at once. “I’ll tie that chap with telephone wire and douse him in a cup of vinegar, so help me! Bring on the boiling oil! Where is my wandering——”

The tall lad began at once to pick things up, but Stan stopped him.

“Remember what Dad always said, John—study the situation, look for clues before disturbing things too much, in a case like this!”

This they now did, making notes of how things were, accurate sketches showing the positions of each object; and then they looked for fingerprints. They were rewarded only by the discovery of a pair of rubber gloves at the foot of the steps. Large sized gloves, they had been tossed aside by the intruder as he left, in a hurry. Stan recovered enough of the fingerprint powders to bring out smudges on various objects but could find no prints. The man who had been aboard the yacht had been lucky, if not careful.

The things were then picked up and set to rights, and Stan was the first to voice an opinion of what had been the purpose of the search.

“From what I see, John,” he said, “Dago may have been sent aboard here to go through our letters and personal things and to destroy the camera. There might be something among the things to show that we were purposely looking up Mr. Nevens, you see. If Dago found nothing, our claim of being merely pleasure-bound would appear more reasonable. The breaking of the camera was probably Dago’s idea!”

“But if Dago came aboard, how did he get here?” John wanted to know. “By the shores of the Red Sea—he didn’t swim it, for his clothes were dry when we passed him.”

“Probably made it in a boat, of course.”

“Where’s the boat, then? And why would he be on the path instead of back at the boat-house, then?”

For answer, Stan dug out a pair of binoculars from a closet and went up on deck. Keeping the cabin between him and the direction of the boat-house, he studied the shore line close by as if looking for something. It took several minutes, but at last he sucked in his breath hard and handed the glasses to John.

“See that spot over there, John?”

“Oh, yes, I see—there’s a punt hidden under the overhanging branches of a tree! And that is how Dago came aboard!”

Stan smiled. “You didn’t figure that out all alone, did you, Sherlock Holmes?”

“All kidding aside, Stan, why would he hide the punt instead of going back and forth from the float-stage and boat-house?”

“Naturally, so that he would not be noticed. He probably followed the shore of the cove from the stage to our boat, under the branches out of sight, and then returned part way, to hide his punt.”

“Stan, by all the constellations in the deep blue sky—I’ve an idea we’re on the trail of something big, so big it frightens me stiff!”

“Me too, John, but we believe in law and order and the power of the right, and we’ll see it through somehow! Mr. Nevens may be merely an eccentric millionaire with a flair for hobbies and an inventive trend, but I’ve a hunch he’s a poseur up to something immense in crime! Look—there comes that yacht we saw from the hilltop!”

The nose of the shiny white yacht had poked into the cove and the whole boat now slid into view, riding easily towards the float-stage. Through the glasses the boys saw men about her decks in uniform, probably sailors of the ordinary sort. And the men on her glass-enclosed bridge were ordinary-appearing men of wealth. “Sea Hawk!” said Stan, reading her name plate. “So what, Skipper?” John queried.

“Used to be a notorious rum-runner, John, if I remember the newspapers and magazines rightly! John, let’s get out of this cove and stay out—while we’re alive and breathing. I’ve an idea trouble is brewing for us, and we’d better be hitting the high spots of speed right off!”

CHAPTER IV
The Mystery of Black Cove

THE G-man’s son hurried below decks with John, and they changed to their white sailor pants and white jerseys. As they did so, Stan gave a low exclamation of surprise.

“Look, John, I didn’t notice that—the man who came aboard our sloop did not take along the brass fitting from Black Cove!”

“Probably didn’t recognize it as of value, Stan,” John suggested. “Dago wouldn’t be likely to think of it, unless he’s brighter than I think he is! ‘From sea to shining sea,’” laughed John, “I’ll never forget how scared Dago was and still is of the boys who helped get Dapper Dan Hogan! Such is the result of publicity and luck!”

“Stow the gab, sailor,” Stan said, grinning, “and put down that doughnut you just reached for. We’ve got work to do.”

He hurried to the deck and began taking the strops off the furled mainsail, and the lanky youth ran to the jibs to do the same. In a few minutes the mainsail was being raised till the throat of it was taut. Then the peak went up tightly, and the jibs were raised. The Water Witch was filled off in the fitful noonday breeze puffing into the cove, as the anchor broke ground and was hauled aboard. Dipping with a courtesy, and rippling along, the black sloop crossed the cove, and as she did so John lay in the bow, peering over as casually as possible, as if idling on the deck. To anyone watching from the hills he would have appeared to be killing time, but in reality he was trying to see below the surface of the cove!

Shaking his head negatively after a few minutes, John sat up while the center of the cove was left behind and the Water Witch came into sight of the channel entrance. Outside a brisk sea was running, for the breeze, which dropped only fitful cat’s-paws down into the cove, was blowing steadily in the open. Whitecaps shattered and broke along the tips of the rollers, and the Water Witch, with sheets eased, ran out through the channel rapidly.

“A swell day for sailing, Stan!” John called back. “Let’s head for Europe!”

“We’ve got plenty to do at home, John,” Stan replied. “Come on aft, and let’s figure things out, if we can.”

Grinning happily as the sloop ran lee rail deep through the marching waves, John came aft to the cockpit, reached into his pants’ pocket for a doughnut, and sat back to talk and eat.

“I’ve got it—(crunch-crunch)—all figured out, Skipper!” John said.

“Let’s have it, old boy.”

“Well—(crunch-crunch)—let’s sail to another cove farther down the island,” John said triumphantly, “getting in there—(crunch-crunch)—after dark, and then come back to our cove overland!”

“Go get yourself a brace more of doughnuts, John,” Stan said, chuckling, “if you can get schemes like that out of a doughnut! Just my idea too, exactly, and that’s what we’ll do. Let’s go over to Main Haven for the fun of it, to kill time.”

“Swell!” was John’s single comment.

The Water Witch was cruising quietly along save for the hum of taut rigging and the splash and run of water along her sides, for she was trim of line, fast, and able. Main Haven was a small port of call on the nearest point of the mainland. It would take all the rest of the day to reach it and return, and the skipper of the Water Witch did not want to get back till nearly dark. There would be watchful eyes upon the hilltop backbone of Porpoise Island, if Stan’s suspicions were correct, and he was already afraid Mr. Nevens suspected them too.

And Stan was not far wrong.

Back at the cove Mr. Nevens, in the seclusion of his private office in the back of that wonderful cabin, was confronting a nervous, apprehensive Dago.

“Well, did you do as I told you to, Dago?” Mr. Nevens inquired mildly, sitting back with his feet upon his desk and a cheap cigar in his mouth.

He’d never been able to take to expensive smoking, had the peculiar Mr. Nevens. Cheap black cigars were still a pleasure to him. It was a throw back to his earlier days when he had been somewhat less than well-padded with money and power——On the walls of his den were odd things: a cartridge belt and brace of six-guns slung in open scabbards. The handles of each gun had crude notches, several notches. A big sombrero also hung upon a big peg.

Dago, big and hulky, stirred nervously upon his great feet before the stare of the tall, lean, much older man.

“I got out the punt, poled along under the trees round the cove, without any noise. When I gotta to the boat, I climbs aboard like you said——”

“Wearing rubber gloves!” interposed Mr. Nevens, sharply.

“You betta the life I wore rubber gloves!” Dago came back eagerly, and beads of sweat began to appear upon his forehead.

“Go on,” said his employer, quietly, puffing softly on the cigar.

“Then I goes down into the cabin and looks around. I don’t find nothin’ at all like-a you wanted.”

“Not a thing?”

“No.”

“No letters of any kind at all?”

“Just one letter, like-a from another boy. They ain’t-a no talk bout you and me in there.”

“You sure you read it carefully, you ignorant fool?” Mr. Nevens demanded.

Dago trembled a little again.

“I read-a every word-a. Slow. And I did find-a one those cameras special for G-men!”

Mr. Nevens puffed slowly and hard, his eyes smouldering. He put his feet down upon the floor, leaned forward now, elbows on desk, and staring into Dago’s black eyes.

“And you probably figured you were doing me a big favor by smashing it!”

“How did you know?” asked Dago, startled. “I didn’t-a tell-a you!”

“You didn’t have to, Dago. You know that! I guess I know ten years ahead just what you’ll do and say any given minute. Twenty years worrying over you from the Tonto Trail to this place has taught me that you’re almost more bother and worry than——”

“I’ll do what you say, Cowboy! Honest I will!” Dago cried as if his employer had threatened him with death or torture.

“O.k., Dago. I was just giving you fair warning, that’s all. Now, did you see anything else?”

Dago named almost everything he had handled in the cabin of the Water Witch and Mr. Nevens, known as “Cowboy” to his henchman, made no remarks till Dago casually spoke of “A piece of brass like-a from a yacht.”

“Brass fitting? Did it have—what was it like?” Mr. Nevens demanded, sharply.

Dago described it as best he could. Mr. Nevens purpled till his leathery face was a mask of rage.

“And you left that fitting behind?”

“Yes. I no see what-a good it was!”

Mr. Nevens rose to his feet, suddenly quiet in manner. He stepped directly in front of Dago and was about to turn and walk away, dismissing Dago, when he suddenly asked, “Where are the gloves, Dago?”

The man stuttered.

“I thought I heard some one coming and I getta nervous and take off the gloves to put them in my pocket!”

“Let’s have them!”

Dago put his hand in his pocket and withdrew it at once, cursing, and pop-eyed.

“Gone!” he said, simply, and in terror.

At Main Haven the Water Witch tied up to the steamboat wharf while the two boys went ashore for peanuts, and a glass of soda. A little later they climbed aboard again, cleared the harbor, and headed back for Porpoise Island. The sun was getting low long before they drew down on Porpoise Island. The chart showed two good coves and inlets along both sides, and they chose one on the further end of the island. It was sheltered, had good holding bottom, and the entrance was wide and free of rocks. The breeze was dying with the setting sun as usual on good summer days at the Catlow Islands and they slid into the cove, hours later, on a light night wind, under the stars. A thin crescent moon hung in the sky, but gave very little light. It was an ideal night for the task in hand.

Getting into their bathing suits, the boys prepared to go ashore. Stanley grinned as he took a length of cloth and tied the binoculars on top of his head, so that he looked as though he had a toothache to boot. Then, thus keeping the glasses dry, he let himself slowly and carefully into the water and started for the beach. John followed as silently as possible and they were shortly ashore.

“We’ll follow the paths along the hilltops, John,” Stan said, “till we get to the places we saw to-day. Then we’ll go along the cove and to the shore. If we get separated, we’ll meet at the place where the path goes into the clearing, where Mr. Nevens confronted us this morning.”

“O.k., Skipper, let’s go.”

Untying the cloth, Stanley tucked the binoculars under one arm, wrapped the cloth about his waist for safe-keeping, and they went along in the starlit darkness adventure bent. It was a matter of a mile or so to the cabin, and they made it without any difficulty, for they held to a general direction by the stars and soon were down on the shore of the cove.

Out in the center of the cove lights moved about on a low boat as men worked. Voices drifted back but no words could be distinguished. The night glasses showed the boat to be a low working barge, and there were five or six men upon it. Among them the starlight glinted on metal, rounded and shiny! The startled G-man’s son, grunting, handed the binoculars to John.

“What do you make out, John?”

“Thunderous herds of beetle-bugs!” murmured John, “and droves of winter cabbage! A diver!”

“John, I guess we’re on the trail of something illegal. Here is a diving operation being carried on at night. Why avoid daylight, which is dangerous enough, underwater? What is down there on the cove floor? And, if a wreck, what does it contain?”

“Let’s swim out and get a closer look, Stan!”

“Two of us might attract attention. You keep watch, here, and I’ll go out there, John.”

Protesting, John was left upon the bank, while Stan plunged in and swam slowly and carefully out into the cove. John watched the faint ripples of Stan’s progress for several minutes. Fifteen minutes went by, during which time he lost track of his friend against the dark water of the cove, then he heard a loud outcry from the men upon the barge, saw a rowboat push away, and knew that Stan had been discovered!

With fast beating heart, John Tallman stared through the binoculars as the boat rowed hard, then slowed. That would mean that Stan had gone underwater trying to elude his pursuers! Suddenly the shout went up again and the boat darted off in a new direction. This time there was a struggling at the end of the row and John knew Stan had been captured! What could he do to help his chum? He did not know, but an idea came to him and he did not hesitate to act upon it. Undoubtedly they would take Stan to the cabin. So John did not wait to see that done. Instead, he darted up the trail, raced pell-mell along the ridge of the Island for the sloop! It would not have mattered if it were ten miles to go instead of two! He had to get there and come back!

In the meantime Stanley Sandborn sat huddled and cold in the bottom of a boat while he was rowed to the barge. There he was hauled dripping to the deck and stood up in the middle of a group of hard faced men. One of them was Mr. Nevens!

“Well, my boy, and what are you doing, snooping round here?” inquired Mr. Nevens.

Stan did not know what to say. If, by any chance, Mr. Nevens were a law-abiding citizen and minding his own business, Stan was then a stupid trespasser! And if he were really a criminal, Stan’s remarks could not release the youth. The boy held his tongue and made no reply.

“Take him to the house, Dago,” ordered Mr. Nevens, “and stick him in room 8.”

Dago grabbed the youth by the nape of the neck with evident delight at his opportunity, and half flung, half pushed him into another boat. Then he pushed off and began rowing ashore with his captive. But he had not reckoned with Stan’s brains!

They had hardly got halfway to the boat-house when Stan pointed ahead. “Look, Dago!” he said, as if surprised.

Obligingly, Dago turned to glance over his shoulder. There was nothing unusual there. The big yacht had gone, and no lights showed. He turned back, angrily—and his eyes popped! Stan had disappeared.

Sick at the thought of what Mr. Nevens would say, and do, Dago rowed in frantic circles trying to find his escaped prisoner! When Stan broke water, after a minute of stiff swimming, he came up yards from the circling boat.

Afraid to yell for help, yet afraid to lose Stan, Dago grunted savagely and rowed towards the youth.

“Dago, you fool!” cried Mr. Nevens from the barge. “Where you going to?”

“It’s o.k., Cowboy, o.k.!” Dago replied, cheerfully, then bent to his oars, cursing under his breath.

It was twenty minutes before he closed again with the desperate youth and hauled him, fighting, aboard. Then he gave the youth such a clip under the short ribs that Stan lay doubled over, sick and gasping, while the boat was rowed to the boat-house. He was still weak and sick when Dago carted him ashore and began marching him up the path to the cabin!

But, sick as he was, Stanley Sandborn was not licked yet, and, as his breath came rapidly back, and they neared the door of that cabin, Stan took one deep breath, and darted off across the clearing!

He made a path before Dago and led that worthy a merry chase. Had he been fresh, Stan would have easily gotten away. As it was, Dago was just a step or two behind all the time, and Stan eluded capture for a while only by twisting about and turning from the outstretched hands of the man.

Dago grabbed him again, however, and triumphantly dragged him towards the cabin door, hugely satisfied with his luck in at last cornering the youth. This time Stan would not escape him, he said aloud, and got an even tighter grip upon the youth’s right arm. Stan knew that this time he could not escape, being winded, sick, and gripped by a powerful hand. Frightened, but game, he was dragged to the cabin door, and Dago reached out his hand to press upon that door.

Even as he did so he gave a loud outcry of pain! His hand let go of Stanley, and he began running in short circles, grabbing at his pants’ seat, and bellowing with alarm as if stung by a whole nest of hornets!

“Oh-h-h!” he bellowed, “I’m dead, dying! Ouch! Fire, bees! Wan Ho Din, help!”

Stanley Sandborn thought himself too tired to run, but he now seized his chance and darted for the path to the cove! There he almost collided with his chum. The two of them headed for the hilltop and towards the Water Witch.

And it was not until they slowed down to catch their breaths some distance from the cabin that Stanley turned looks and words of inquiry upon his friend.

For answer, John handed Stan an object he had been carrying.

It was his bow. And he had three or four arrows tucked away in a light quiver over his shoulder!

CHAPTER V
Fighting for Life

THEY paused but little in covering the distance to the cove where their sloop lay at her anchor and less time was taken in swimming out to her. Clambering aboard they hauled up the mainsail and foresails as rapidly as possible, swung the anchor aboard and laid a course at all possible speed for the comparative safety of the open bay. Far across the water glittered a few lights—the outposts of Centerport’s homes, and towards those lights the boys now headed with sheets eased before the steady bay breeze. Dipping and swaying, the brave little vessel raced for home.

At the wheel John did an expert job of getting every bit of speed out of the boat, as they left the western end of Porpoise Island. Stan sat in the cockpit, watchful eyes studying the fading outlines of the island against the stars, as if he expected something to be seen there. His hunch proved right, for he gave a low whistle and pointed aft.

“See, John! Lights! The pursuit is on! We’re in for something and it isn’t play!”

“But, if Mr. Nevens really is after us, why didn’t he try to find and catch me, Stan, to-night, instead of just sending you off with Dago? Modest piles of doubloons, and knee-deep heaps of silver bullion!”

Stan had briefly told of his part of the adventure, confirming John’s visual knowledge of what had happened out on the cove and John had told of his race for the bow and arrows, and of arriving just in time to wing the bulky Mr. Dago. John’s suspicion was sound—why had not Mr. Nevens ordered an immediate search for John, since he knew both boys very likely would be about the island together?

“I figure he did, as soon as he could without scaring us too seriously. John, that man is up to some nefarious work and he wants to keep us innocent of the facts. But he’ll catch us if he possibly can! And, unless I’m far wrong, we’ll hear water spraying from the bow of racing speedboats long before we hear their motors!”

“Let them come, Stan. We’ll fight.”

“Don’t forget this, John—we’ll be fighting for our lives! And it will be bows and arrows against bullets!”

“Chills and fevers! Bones of long-lost galleons!” John cried. “Do you really think they’d kill us?”

“I do! We’ve got a reputation, John, as Sleuths, and they know we’ve got clues enough to start an investigation. Any attitude of innocence we may have kept up was finished by my swim into the cove to-night!”

Lights were now winding down into the cove the boys had just left, but Stan was wrong in one thing.

“Get those kids alive, do you understand?” Mr. Nevens, back at the barge, had ordered as soon as Stan had been spotted in the water of the cove. As soon as Dago had captured Stan and was taking him away in the rowboat, another boat had pushed off to the other side of the cove, bearing two men with lights. And still others had begun to scour the island in other directions. Only the bare feet of the boys, treading in silence and speed along the pathways, had saved them from being taken before reaching the Water Witch—that and the fact that Mr. Nevens and his men did not know where the sloop was anchored. He had ideas, but it would take time to verify them.

One speedboat from the boat-house had gone humming out of the channel and along the sea side of the island, searching for a little black sloop. Another had followed the first outside, then turned eastward, rounded the snout of the Porpoise and gone down the north side. But Porpoise Island has dozens of fine little anchorages along its shores and it took time to go in and out in the dark with all eyes watching for a tell-tale mast against the stars and an almost invisible hull! That alone had helped to delay the pursuit so that the Water Witch was well on her way before the men had covered the island and surrounding waters.

“They ain’t-a here, men!” Dago remarked, in one of the gray boats, the one in the bay. “Let’s swing out and zig-zag the bay. I’d like ta get my paws on the kid that slung that arrow! I break-a the neck!”

“Talk’s cheap, Dago!” remarked one of the other men who, at the wheel of the swift boat, guided it expertly across the dark waters while spray cascaded on either side. “You hurt either of those kids and Cowboy will chop your ears off!”

“I s’pose he wants-a to make soup of them himself, eh, Butch?” queried Dago sarcastically.