“All right,” said the big fellow, somewhat pacified. “I’ll do what I can, but I never was cut out for a detective.”
“Mart Woodock may be able to help you. Find him—watch him.”
“All ready, Mr. Merriwell.”
The call came from Howard Dustan, and Frank stepped aboard the Fox. The lines were cast off, and, with an oar, Browning thrust the prow of the craft away from the wharf.
“Goot-py, Vrankie,” called Hans, sadly. “I vos sorry you vasn’t goin’ mit me. If you catch up mit der vellers vat stole dot yotch, gif them der tyfil.”
The propeller began to churn the water. Dustan was at the wheel, and the Fox soon headed down the harbor. As long as the wharf could be seen, Hans was visible, alternately waving a bandanna handkerchief and blowing his nose.
Out into the morning sunshine that was tinting the rippling water with pink and gold danced the little launch. She ran smoothly and swiftly.
“Which way, Mr. Merriwell?” asked Dustan.
“I believe we had better run over to Searsport first,” said Frank.
Diamond looked surprised.