“Not a word.”
“You will if you go down Fernwood way.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, there’s two fellows keeping themselves mighty scarce. When they walk they wobble, and when they talk they squabble.”
“Do I happen to know the parties?” inquired Tom, but already guessing their identity.
“I reckon you do,” answered Bill. “Making no bones about it, the fellows are Mart Walters and Bert Aldrich.”
“I thought so,” put in Ben. “They were up to tricks, were they?”
“They were up to queering you fellows,” replied Bill, “and I learned of it. I knew yesterday they were coming down here after dark to wreck your wireless plant. I owed that cad, Aldrich, something, and I reckoned to pay off two scores at one and the same time. I lay in wait.”
“And they showed up?” inquired the interested Ben.
“Yes, about nine o’clock. They tried to get up through the trap door, me watching them. They couldn’t make it, and then they went down to the beach and got an armful of big flat stones. Aldrich was to go up that tree yonder and Mart was to pass up the stones to him. He calculated to throw through the tower windows and smash your outfit.”