“It’s a threat, all right,” muttered Hank Butts, his hair bristling when the sheet came into his hands. “Confound ’em, I hope whoever 87 sent this tries to make good—when we’re looking!”
Just then Captain Tom changed the course abruptly, the bows of the “Restless” sending up a shower of spray that sprinkled Hank from head to foot. As he turned to get out of the way the wind caught the sheet written in red from his hand, blowing it out across the water.
“Let it go,” laughed Tom. “We know all the red message had to say.”
“The negro that I allowed on deck came on purpose to drop the note where it would be found,” muttered Hank.
“No matter,” smiled Tom. “We’re always glad to know that we’re remembered by nice people.”
“I’d like to have that black boy here for a minute or two,” grunted Hank, clenching his fists.
“What for?” Tom Halstead queried. “He probably didn’t have any guilty knowledge about the sender.”
“That reminds me,” broke in Joe. “Stand close by the motors a few minutes, will you, Hank?”
With that Dawson vanished aft. When he came back he announced:
“I’ve just flashed the wireless word back to Mr. Seaton’s lawyer about the message we got, 88 advising the lawyer that it probably shows Dalton, or Lemly, or both, to be in Beaufort. And the lawyer was able to send me news, received just after we left.”