Dobbs uttered an exclamation of astonishment. “Of course, you don’t know in what direction he went—everybody has been after him for three days.”
“We left him behind in the fog; but he said he wanted to get to New York.”
“But he only had one oar.”
“Your other oar.”
“What color was your jacket—and the sweater?” Allan described the clothes the convict had taken, and Dobbs waited to hear no more. In six minutes Dobbs was at the station talking to police headquarters in New York. In twenty minutes every police station near the Hudson, from the Battery to Sing Sing, had a description of the clothes the Ghost wore, with information as to the skiff and the single oar. The police everywhere already had a full description of the man.
“I almost hope they don’t catch him,” said Allan, as he and McConnell hurried inland from the river.
“I don’t know what I hope,” confessed McConnell. “When I think of his knocking your head against the centre-board, I want to have him caught. When I think of how hungry he looked, and how thin his hands were, I want him to get away.”
“I wonder how Owen will get home?” Allan queried. “It almost seems as if we should have tried to find him; though I’m quite sure he has walked south and will get across the river somehow.”
Both McConnell and Allan found an anxious welcome awaiting them at home. The Doctor had assured Mrs. Hartel and Edith that the boys had prudently anchored when the storm came up, and that they would be home as soon as the fog lifted; yet both mother and cousin had worried greatly, and even little Ellen had made many inquiries as to why Allan did not come home.
It may be supposed that Allan’s recital found highly interested listeners; that a hundred questions were asked; that some of them were answered; that Allan did not eat much dinner.