Footsteps passed close to the boatman's craft.
"There's a boat come in since we were here," commented a voice. "He didn't mind hogging the best part of the dock either, did he?"
The second man laughed as the pair went on up the sloping gangway that led to the shore.
Sam lay motionless until they were gone from his hearing, then cautiously rose to his knees and made an observation. The men were out of sight.
He crawled aft, put down the oil-can and sat for several minutes, motionless, considering carefully the fruits of his eavesdropping.
"So they've got their eye on the islands, have they?" he thought. "Interesting, that. I wonder—"
He laughed softly.
"Why not?" he asked himself after another period of thought. "It may not be a bit of use to Uncle Sam, but it just might happen to make his humble namesake real happy."
He stepped out on the wharf and went up the gangway, at the head of which he stood listening and watching for a moment until he was assured that the arrivals in the second launch were safely out of the way. Then he returned to his craft, lighted the lantern, and squatted beside it on the floor.
From a small locker at his hand he took Hamersly's "Social Register" and tore out a fly-leaf. A stub of lead-pencil appeared from one of his pockets. Using the book as a desk, the boatman began to write.