Alvin groped about him for the binoculars, which he had left on the seat at his side. By turning the glass over when in use, one could avail himself of the night lens, which was helpful in the gloom. But he did not find it.
“That’s queer,” he muttered; “I am sure I laid it there. I wonder if anyone visited the boat while we were away.”
“By gracious!” called Chester from his station; “I believe she has stopped!”
“Make sure of it. I should think they would put out their stern light if they wanted to elude us.”
“Likely they don’t care. Yes; she has run into shore, where there seems to be some sort of landing.”
Alvin swung over the wheel so as to approach directly from the rear. Since the other boat had become motionless, he slackened speed to save the strain upon his own.
Everything was now in the vivid moonlight. The launch drew steadily up to the landing where the other boat had halted. Two men were observed moving about as if making ready to tie up for the remainder of the night. They showed no interest in their pursuers, and Alvin sheered off slightly so as to pass at a distance of several rods, and while doing so he made an exasperating discovery.
The craft which he had been pursuing with so much zest was not the Water Witch, but a small runabout capable of high speed. The couple on board gave no attention to the larger craft, and the chagrined Alvin turned farther out into the bay and gradually headed up stream again. Chester came back from the front and chuckled:
“What a wild goose chase! The next thing to do is to make after the Nahanada or the Gardiner. There will be as much sense in the one as the other.”
Observing the change of course, Chester inquired: