Dickie shook her head. "I don't know," she answered. "He has me guessing right now. I can't understand why he's been hanging round Hell-Hole all day and hasn't tumbled on to the Curlew. He seems to have forgotten his boats entirely."
"I have an idea he has," Gregory answered. "Sometimes I think that perhaps fishing is only a small part of Mascola's business. We both know he hasn't made much with his boats in the last few months, yet Bronson says he's having twenty new launches built at Port Angeles. That will run into a big bunch of money at present prices."
"You're not the only one who has ideas to-night," Dickie said softly. "Being around Diablo always makes me think—and wonder."
"What?" Gregory encouraged.
The girl moved closer to his side.
"I'm wondering about the same things our fathers wondered about," she said. As Gregory said nothing, she went on hurriedly: "Did you ever stop to think that if Mascola and that gray boat lay in at Hell-Hole that they are doing it with Bandrist's permission? That means that whatever they are doing there, Bandrist is in on it." She paused abruptly and her eyes rested full on Gregory's face. "I have an idea that old Rock is in on it, too," she said. "He and Bandrist are pretty thick evidently, and Rock always did stick up for Mascola. And all three of them are doing all they can against us."
"And you think it is something else than fishing?" Gregory prompted.
"Yes, I'm sure of it. I think our fathers had the same idea. I believe they came over here alone that night to find out."
"Do you think——" Gregory began.