"Think you are so smart!" cried the constable. "Look at this."
He drew forth the letter he had received from the company announcing the coming of the camping party to the island. The lumber company gave Quibb a small present each year to look out for Storm Island and see that nobody without authority landed there.
"My goodness, Rex!" whispered Midkiff. "What do you make of this?"
Kingdon made no immediate reply. He was looking seriously at the constable, whose inflamed face was not far from his own.
"You are quite convinced, Mr. Constable," he said politely, "that the party over yonder is the one mentioned in your letter?"
"Of course I am. They got the permit. They showed it to me."
"But you did not see it when you interviewed them on a previous occasion?"
"I didn't ax for it," admitted Enos, "when I was here before. But I've seen it now. You ain't got no right on this island, and off you go."
"Mr. Quibb," Kingdon said, "you're being fooled. I'm the 'R. Kingdon' referred to in that letter and in the permit. Don't suppose anybody over at that other camp declared himself to be Rex Kingdon?"
"Huh? Not in so many words, mebbe," said the puzzled constable.