“I am ready.”
“In the first place, where do this gang with whom you have been associated have their headquarters?”
“I can guide you to the exact spot.”
“It is not that little patch of ground in the cove at the southern end of Barter Island?”
“No; the character of the islet forbids. Miller ran the launch in there one night when he thought some one was watching, to throw him off the scent. Have you a pencil and bit of paper anywhere about you?”
Calvert produced the articles from an inner coat pocket and handed them to Noxon. Placing the paper on the table in the middle of the room, he spent several minutes in drawing a diagram. He was apt at the work and did it with no little skill. By and by he handed paper and pencil to the owner with the remark:
“That will answer your question.”
“It is a production of art,” said the detective admiringly. “No professional artist could beat it.”
Noxon had not only drawn a perfect representation of the neighborhood which he had in mind, but lettered it so that no mistake was possible. It pictured a part of the eastern shore of Westport Island, opposite Barter, and only a short distance north of the inlet where the Water Witch had been visited some nights before. Noxon leaned forward and placed the tip of his finger on the different points.
“Right there is one of a hundred similar coves among the waters of southern Maine. It is smaller than the others, and a little way back is an island, which resembles except in size those that you see in every part of these waters. You know they rise above the surface like vast bouquets, with trees growing down to the edge of the river or sea. It is not so with that bit of earth you first asked about, but it is so with the islet in that cove which I show on that piece of paper.”