That afternoon Joe, with some help from his comrades, repaired the bungalow’s wireless plant and got in touch with the shore once more.
Through the night four men were kept on guard, one on the porch, another at the wharf, and two others patrolling the island. No attempt of any sort on the part of Dalton or the latter’s confederates was discovered.
The next morning brought still no change in the condition of Clodis. He was alive, breathing feebly, and Dr. Cosgrove was attempting to ward off an attack of brain fever.
Through the forenoon Joe was kept rather 91 busy sending messages ashore to the authorities, for Powell Seaton, though not leaving the island, was waging a determined campaign to get hold of Dalton.
“I don’t need Dalton, particularly,” confessed Mr. Seaton, as he sat with the three motor boat boys at the noon meal. “But it would be worth a very great deal of money to get back the papers that Dalton must have stolen after assaulting my sick friend, yonder, on board the ‘Constant.’”
“Do you—do you know—what was in the stolen papers?” asked Captain Tom Halstead, hesitatingly.
“Very well, indeed,” rejoined their employer, with emphasis. “But the real trouble is that I don’t want to have that knowledge pass to the gang that are behind Anson Dalton.”
“Yet Dalton must have had time to join his principals, or confederates, by this time, and turn the papers over to them,” hazarded Halstead.
“That’s hardly likely,” murmured Powell Seaton, “since the gang of rascals behind Anson Dalton must be, at this moment, somewhere in the interior of Brazil.”
“Oh!” said Tom, reflectively.