A half hour passed by. The Black Caps had apparently retired to a distance. Then the crackling of dry twigs outside the hut announced the approach of someone.
“Hello, there, Tom Barnes!” spoke the owner of a head thrust past the open doorway.
Tom at once identified the tones. They belonged to Mart Walters.
[CHAPTER XIV—TURNING THE TABLES]
“This is getting interesting—I think I am beginning to understand this affair,” murmured Tom amid his helpless discomfort.
Mart Walters stepped into the hut. He felt about with his feet, and even groped with his hands. As one toe touched the prostrate Tom the visitor came to a stop.
“We’ll have a little light on the subject,” he observed, drawing out a cigar lighter. Mart fancied it was “mannish” and grand to exhibit this appurtenance when he lit a cigarette. He snapped a light and held the flame over Tom. Then he extinguished it, and stooping unsnapped the gag from the captive’s lips, letting it drop under his chin.
Mart had not spoken to Tom since the day of the ducking at the creek. Twice Tom had met him in Rockley Cove, and had nodded to him pleasantly. This courtesy had been rewarded with a malevolent scowl. It was evidently still in the mind of our hero’s enemy to “get even” with him.
More than once Tom had seen Mart on the Fernwood pier or in the powerful launch with the elegant young swell, Bert Aldrich. Several evenings Tom had passed at the Morgan mansion at little social gatherings of Miss Grace and her friends. On these occasions, however, Aldrich and his satellite had made a point to cut Tom direct. Tom had not minded this in the least, for Grace had laughed outright at such ridiculous manœuvres.
Tom now instantly made up his mind that the present episode had something to do with his visits to Grace. Mart was not above mean plotting, and his supercilious friend, Bert Aldrich, had always struck Tom as an unpleasant cad.