"Aha!" he growled, pulling the letter from my pocket and looking at it with satisfaction. "Here it is."
He tore the letter open, throwing the envelope on the ground, and read it.
"There, confound you," he muttered. "The government 'll never get that.
Come on, men. Bring him this way."
He shoved the letter into his pocket and led the way through the underbrush, while the others half-dragged, half-pushed me along. We had not gone very far before one of the three men, who appeared to be the leader, paused.
"Take him to the hang-out," he ordered gruffly. "I'll have to report to the Chief."
He disappeared down toward the shore of the harbor while the others prodded me along.
. . . . . . .
Down near the Dodge dock, along the shore, walked a man wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a plain suit of duck. His prim collar and tie comported well with his smoked glasses. Instinctively one would have called him "Professor", though whether naturalist, geologist, or plain "bugologist", one would have had difficulty in determining.
He seemed, as a matter-of-fact, to be a naturalist, for he was engrossed in picking up specimens. But he was not so much engrossed as to fail to hear the approach of footsteps down the gravel walk from Dodge Hall to the dock. He looked up in time to see Del Mar coming, and quietly slipped into the shrubbery up on the shore.
On the dock, Del Mar stood for some minutes, waiting. Finally, along the shore came another figure. It was the emissary to whom Del Mar had telephoned and who had searched me. The naturalist drew back into his hiding-place, peering out keenly.