Frank and Andy looked at each other quickly. At last they seemed on the track of the mystery.
“Was he a tall, dark lad, with black hair?” asked Frank.
“Yes—yes, that’s the boy I’m looking for!” exclaimed the man quickly.
“And was the motor boat a long one, painted white with a green water line, and with the engines forward under a hood?” added Andy.
“Yes!” eagerly cried the man, in his excitement taking hold of Andy’s coat. “That’s the boat! Where is it? I must have it!”
“She’s wrecked,” said Frank quickly. “We saw her on the Shark’s Teeth, going to pieces, and we’ve been looking for her since, but the boy—”
“Yes—yes! The boy—the boy! What of him? Where is Paul—?”
The man stopped suddenly, and fairly clapped his hand over his own lips to keep back the next word. He seemed strangely confused.
“We rescued the boy, and he is up at our house,” said Frank quickly. “We have been trying to pick up the wreck of the boat and learn who the boy is. He has lost his memory.”
“Lost his memory!” the man exclaimed, and he actually appeared glad of it.