“Go on,” he said after a minute. “Go on! What next?”
“Isn’t that enough? Vesty got wind of it, and sent Micky off to warn you. There’s no telling what they’ll do, really—and it’s nothing to laugh about!”
“It will be, I promise you,” and Hardrock chuckled. “Not for them to laugh about, though. Don’t mention it to anyone, for he doesn’t want it known—but Sheriff Fulsom is over there in the trees now. It’s his launch that is down the shore. I picked him up last night—he was drifting up the channel, disabled and out of gas. He and I are working on this business, and we’ve already proved my ideas right by finding that fish-trap and a case of whisky with it. There are other cases at the same spot, probably.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Oh, good!” she exclaimed.
“And I don’t forget that I owe the tip to you, either,” he went on. “Well, what next?”
“Hughie thinks that you did the shooting, but he isn’t sure. He told Father that a strange launch had been seen around here—a green boat with a red stripe running around the house. A fishboat. I thought right away that it might be the one—”
“Good for you, Nelly Callahan! I’ll bet a dollar she’s the one we’re looking for. Any further news from the chap who went over to the hospital?”
“He’s still between life and death, they said.”
“Looks bad. Well, what else is on your mind?”
She looked down at the sand, stirred a branch of ground-cedar with her foot, colored faintly. Then her eyes, direct and searching, lifted suddenly to meet his gaze.