Brick Ryan had all this time spoken no word. Finally Dirk broke the uncomfortable silence.
“How did you know my name?”
The man hesitated. “Why—I guess everybody knows by sight a famous kid like you. I thought I was right. Your old man’s the banker, ain’t he? Say,” he went on more easily, “how would you and your smart-lookin’ partner there like to take a little joy-ride around the country with me for half an hour or so? I got a little car over by the road, and you can drive a ways if you want to.”
Such an offer a few days previously might well have tempted Dirk’s adventurous instincts; but he remembered that he and Brick were charged with a mission to perform.
“That’s nice of you, especially since we upset your fishing here,” he returned; “but Brick and I have to take care of the mail. Besides, we don’t leave the camp without permission.”
“Yeah, let’s beat it,” put in Brick, shoving the oars into the rowlocks.
Dirk nodded, and began backing water. The man made a quick step toward them, and his right arm jerked impulsively; but he made no effort to detain them. He stood gazing at them with his cold blue eyes until they vanished again beyond the leafy screen that hid the entrance to the creek.
Once more heading across the lake toward Heaven House, all thoughts of kingfishers’ nests forgotten, Brick spoke reflectively.
“There’s something funny about that bird,” he began. “Ever seen him before, Van?”
“Why, not that I remember. Funny he knew my name. I guess we spoiled his fishing—too bad.”