“Humph!” grunted Chess. “You don’t suppose they would welcome any spies if they are smugglers, do you?” he asked.
“But what do they smuggle? Diamonds? Precious stones?”
“Don’t know. Maybe. There is a heavy internal revenue tax on diamonds,” Chess said.
“Goodness! wouldn’t Helen like to be here.”
“She’d want to go ashore and take a hand in it,” grinned Copley. “I know her.”
“Yes, Helen is brave,” admitted Ruth.
“Humph! She’s foolish, you mean,” he declared. “Whatever and whoever those fellows are, they would not welcome visitors I fancy.”
Their launch had been drifting by the island, the upper ridge and trees of which they could see quite plainly. Suddenly a breath of wind—the forecast of the breeze that often rises toward daybreak—swooped down upon the river. It split the mist and revealed quite clearly the upper end of the island where Ruth had interviewed the queer old man, and which Copley’s launch had now drifted past.
A light showed suddenly, and for a few moments, close to the water’s edge. It revealed enough for the two in the drifting launch to see several figures outlined in the misty illumination of the light.
There was the bow of the mysterious boat close against the landing place. At least three men were in the boat and on the shore. Ruth could not be sure that either of them was the old man she had spoken with.