“Then it won’t really do Dalton any good to start for Brazil unless he can get hold of the contents of the other set of papers?” Halstead asked, after a pause of a few moments.
“Not until the fellow can get his clutches on the papers that I have secretly locked in that closet over there,” confirmed Mr. Seaton. “And I have told none but you trustworthy youngsters that the other set is hidden in such an easy place to get at.”
Then, as though struck by a thought, Powell 104 Seaton crossed the room, drawing his key-ring from a pocket. He fitted the right key to the door, and swung the latter open. An instant more, and there came from Mr. Seaton’s lips a cry much like the frightened howl of a wild beast.
“The second set of papers is gone—stolen from here!”
There was an almost simultaneous gasp of consternation from the three Motor Boat Club boys as they rushed forward. But they had no need to search. Seaton had done that thoroughly, and now he turned to eye them. As he stared—or glared—a new thought came into Seaton’s mind, reflecting itself in his eyes. The boys could see him fighting against his own new suspicion.
“Halstead,” cried Powell Seaton, clutching at the side of the doorway, “I told you all about this hiding place. I trusted you!”
It was Tom Halstead’s turn to go deathly white and stagger.
“Do you mean, sir, that YOU SUSPECT ME?” demanded the young skipper, in a voice choked with horror.