“If that isn’t Noddy Nixon I’ll eat my hat,” said Ned in a whisper. “I’d know his voice anywhere. But who’s the other?”
“Let’s see what it’s all about?” suggested Bob. “It isn’t spying on them. They are talking so loud they can’t help being heard all over.”
“Hush!” cautioned Jerry.
A second later there came to the ears of the boys these words:
“I’ve given you all the cash I can afford to. You must think I’m a millionaire, Bill.”
“Pretty near it, I guess,” was the answer in a low rumble. “All I know is, I’ve got to have money.”
“I tell you I’m broke,” persisted the one whom the boys had decided was Noddy. “I might allow you a little something if you helped me out.”
“What is it now? Some more of your tricks on those motor boys?”
“Hush!” exclaimed Noddy. “Not so loud. Do you want to have the police after us? Now I’ll tell you what I want you to do.” His voice sunk to a whisper, but the walls were so thin that the boys could distinguish a word here and there.
“Motor boat—do ’em brown—fix ’em for me—I’ll pay you well,” were some expressions overheard.