Brick snorted. “Haven’t you got eyes? He’s no fisherman—not in that outfit. His rod didn’t even have bait on the line, and besides, any sap would know that there’s no fish in that part of the creek.”
“Well, then, what was he doing?”
“He was spyin’, that’s what!” the red-haired boy exploded. “Spyin’ on the camp, or I’m a monkey’s uncle! I guess you didn’t notice when we first saw him, but he was standin’ there on the hill, lookin’ through the trees with a pair of field glasses, straight at the lodge! He’s after no good, if you ask me!”
“Why, Brick, are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure! What I want to know is, what’s his game? ‘Let me take you for a joy-ride,’ he says. Huh!” Brick spat into the rippling wake of the boat.
Dirk pulled thoughtfully at the oars. They were now nearing the wharf that was their goal.
“It’s puzzling, all right. But I still think you’re too suspicious, Brick.” Nevertheless, he was not altogether sure that Ryan’s distrust was wholly without grounds, and he could not rid himself of the feeling that he had somewhere before seen that pale grim face and frosty eyes.
The two boys tied their craft at the end of the jutting wharf, hauled the mail-sack ashore, and between them carried it up the path to Heaven House. The little cottage was empty at that time, but the flower garden in front was carefully weeded and tended. As they reached the gate, a cloud of dust bearing up the Elmville road told them that they had delivered their burden with little time to spare.
The rattling flivver that served the rural route drew up before them with a screeching of brakes, and Lem Shuttle, the driver, took off his straw hat and wiped his bald head.
“That there the camp mail, boys?” he asked. “Hot today, bean’t it? Got a mighty heap of letters for ye to take back, and a couple parcels.”