“‘It—it’s a body!’ she cried, dropping the glasses to the deck.
“That was enough for us. Like a flash it went through my mind that it could be no other than Mr. Maddox.”
“What did you do then?”
“The most natural thing. We did not wait for the oysterman to come to us. We piled into one of Shelby’s tenders and went to him. Sure enough, the oysterman had found the body, floating in the bay.”
There was a trace of a tear in Hastings’s eye, and his voice faltered a bit. I rather liked him better for it. Except for fear at the revolver-shot, I had almost begun to think him devoid of feeling.
“So far as we could see,” he resumed, as though ashamed to show weakness even over one whom he had known so long, “there was nothing to show whether he might not have got up, fallen overboard in some way, and have been drowned, or might have been the victim of foul play—except one thing.”
“What was that?” inquired Kennedy, eagerly.
“Maddox and I had taken out with us, in a brief-case which he carried, the plans of the telautomaton. The model is in the company’s safe here in New York. This morning when we went back to Maddox’s room I found that the brief-case was missing. The plans are gone! You were right. There has been trouble over them.”
Kennedy eyed Hastings keenly. “You found nothing in the room that would give a hint?”
“I didn’t look,” returned Hastings. “I sealed the door and window—or port-hole—whatever you call it—had them locked and placed a wax seal bearing the impression of my ring, so that if it is broken, I will know by whom. Everything there is just as it was. I wanted it that way, for I had heard of you, and determined to come to town myself and get you.”