So Tom led his friends down to a point but little south of the dock. From here, following the shore, they started to prowl slowly around Lonely Island, all the while keeping a sharp watch to seaward.
“If the boat is in any waters near at hand we ought to get some sign of her whereabouts by keeping a sharp enough watch,” Tom advised his comrades. “They can’t sail or handle the 56 boat without the occasional use of a light in the motor room. The gleam of a lantern across the water may be enough to give us an idea where she is.”
Peering off into the blackness of the night, this seemed like rather a forlorn hope.
“If whoever has stolen the boat intends to land later to-night,” hinted Joe, “it’s much more likely that the thieves are, at this moment, a good, biggish distance away, so as not to give us any clew to their intentions.”
In the course of twenty minutes the Motor Boat Club boys had made their way around to the southern end of the island.
Somewhat more than a mile to the southward lay a small, unnamed island. It was uninhabited, and too sandy to be of value to planters. Yet it had one good cove of rather deep water.
Tom halted, staring long and hard in the direction where he knew this little spot on the ocean to stand. It was too black a night for any glimpse of the island to be had against the sky.
“That would be a good enough place for our pirates to have taken the ‘Restless,’” he muttered, to his comrades.
“If we only had a boat, we could know, bye-and-bye,” muttered Hank, discontentedly. 57
“We have been known to swim further than that,” said Joe, quietly.