The moon was coming up, and its silvery rays whitened everything upon deck. The girls sat for a while in the open stern deck watching the water and the lights. It was very beautiful indeed.
It was Helen who first noticed the figure near, with his back to them and with his head upon the arm that rested on the steamer’s rail. She nudged Ruth.
“See him?” she whispered. “That’s the boy who you said looked like Henry Smith. See his curly hair?”
“Oh, Helen!” gasped Ruth, a thought stabbing her suddenly. “Suppose it is?”
“Suppose it is what?”
“Suppose it should be Curly whom the police were after? You know, that dressed-up boy—if it was he we saw on the dock—had curly hair.”
“So he had! I forgot that when we were trailing that queer old maid,” chuckled Helen.
“This is no laughing matter, dear,” whispered Ruth, watching the curly-haired boy closely. “Having gotten rid of his disguise, there was no reason why that boy should not stay aboard the steamboat.”
“No; I suppose not,” admitted Helen, rather puzzled.
“And if it is Curly—”