The other boys agreed this was the best idea. They watched the boat with the tramp-fisherman growing smaller and smaller as he rowed out on the lake, and puzzled more than ever over the queer character.
“Well, shall we start right away?” asked Ned.
“I don’t believe it would do any good,” said Jerry. “Let’s get ready for supper, and this evening we can take a run out on the lake. We probably will not discover anything, but it will be fun, and we may gain a clue.”
Shortly after sunset, the evening meal having been finished, the boys made the Dartaway ready and started away from camp. The lake was alive with power and other boats and the boys met a number of new acquaintances they had made at the luncheon following the winning of the prize. They speeded back and forth until dusk, and then accepted an invitation of a party that was bound for one of the resorts on the shore of the lake.
They spent some time there and when they reached their island dock and made a landing it was as dark as pitch. The boat was made fast to the wharf and then, lighting some oil lanterns, the boys walked up to their camp, which was a little way from shore.
As the gleam of the lamps fell on the place Jerry who was in the lead uttered an exclamation:
“Some one has been paying us a visit!” he said. “And they haven’t been friends of ours either.”
This was soon evident, for the camp was topsy-turvy. The shelter tent was pulled down, the utensils and camp stuff were scattered all about, and the place looked as if a small cyclone had struck it.
“I wonder who did this?” came from Ned. “I’d like to get hold of them for a few minutes.”
“Maybe this tells,” said Jerry, taking up a piece of paper from the planks that served as a table. The scrap had evidently been placed where it would be easily seen. It read: