“I’ll do whatever you say,” assented Neale listlessly.
“It may all be a mistake,” went on the lawyer sympathetically. “We will not jump at conclusions.”
Hank had been sworn in as a special deputy, and was with the other men who pressed on through the woods after Constable Newcomb.
Suddenly the leader halted, and his men did likewise.
“Something’s up!” called Mr. Howbridge to Neale. They went on a little farther and saw, in a clearing, a small cabin. There was no sign of life about it.
“I guess they’re in there,” said the constable in a low tone to his men. “The motor boat’s at the dock, and so is the rowboat, so they’re on the island. Close in, men!” he suddenly cried.
There was a rush toward the cabin, and Mr. Howbridge and Neale followed. The door was burst in and the constable and his posse entered.
Three men were asleep in rude bunks, and they sat up bleary-eyed and bewildered at the unexpected rush.
“Wot’s matter?” asked one, thickly.
“You’re under arrest!” exclaimed the constable. “In the name of the law I arrest you! I’m the law!” he went on, tapping his nickel shield.