“Well,” said Hank, “I’ve been thinking, from what I know of the place, that Vanderdecken may have used San Nicolas for one of his ports of call. What do you say, B. C.?”
“Who knows?” said Candon.
“Did you land on San Nicolas?” asked George.
“Oh yes; we were hanging off the kelp beds three or four days.”
“I’d like to land there,” said George.
“Well, it’s easily done,” said Hank. “We could tie up the kelp for the matter of that, only I’m afraid the Wear Jack’s a bit too big. She might drag out. Away down, further south, the kelp vines run to a thousand foot long and you could most moor a battleship to them, but it’s different here. However, we can anchor if you want to. What do you say, B. C.?”
“I’m with you,” said Candon. “We have plenty of time and a day won’t matter.”
“Not a cent,” said George.
Candon went and leaned on the starboard rail. For the last two days, in fact, ever since he had given away the whereabouts of Vanderdecken’s cache, he had seemed at times depressed. Sometimes he would be in high good spirits and sometimes moping and silent. Hank had noticed it first and he spoke of it now as he and George went forward to the bow, where they hung watching the boost of the water and the foam gouts like marble shavings on lazalite.
“Notice B. C. has the dumps again,” said Hank. “I wonder what’s working on him? Maybe he feels himself a skunk leading us on to old man Vanderdecken.”