“Confound him for that!” muttered Tom in his chum’s ear.
Gambon was coming back now. The two friends crouched lower behind the bushes. By them walked the Frenchman, looking straight ahead. As soon as it seemed wise to do so the chums started after him. They saw him, however, return to his cottage, where he lighted his lamp, smoked and by and by extinguished the light and went to bed.
“We’ve found the spy,” groaned Tom, as the two chums neared the pier. “It’s fearful luck, Joe, that we couldn’t have known about him before. But it’s too late now for the knowledge to do us any good. To-morrow is the last day for Ted Dunstan to show up. After we see that the boat and Jed are safe I’ll run up to the house for a moment and see Mr. Dunstan.”
When Tom told their employer, a little later, what they had discovered that gentleman at first appeared considerably interested.
“I’m afraid, though, Halstead,” he commented, “that we’re all of us inclined to suspect anything and anyone. Gambon is a bachelor and has saved a goodly bit of money. What more likely than that he may be courting a sweetheart? That would be a likely enough place for her to leave a note for him. Perhaps it was only a note as to an engagement that had to be broken for this evening, for, as you say, Gambon came right back. Whatever the note was about we’d probably feel rather ashamed if we forced the Frenchman to tell us about it. By the way, I am going to bed at once, now, for at at half-past five in the morning I shall want to start for Wood’s Hole. I’ve heard from Crane again, and he’s coming over with me at full speed, in order to be in court with me. We’re going to see if we can’t get an adjournment for one day. Of course, there seems little hope of it, as the terms of the will are so exacting. Oh, Halstead, I made a huge mistake in letting the matter go so long!”
There were tears in Mr. Dunstan’s eyes. Halstead, much touched, bade his employer goodnight, returning to the boat.
CHAPTER XVII—JOE PLAYS JUSTICE A SCURVY TRICK
Over a sea “as smooth as glass,” that fateful Monday morning, the “Meteor” made a dashing run to Wood’s Hole. It was just five minutes of seven by the clock when the swift craft tied up at the village on the mainland.
All through the trip Horace Dunstan had remained seated in one of the armchairs in the cockpit aft. His head had been bowed in sorrow. His face was haggard and ashen, for he had not slept through the night.
On the pier awaiting him stood Mr. Crane, his lawyer, and Musgrave, who had been in charge of the force of detectives who had been vainly seeking the young heir.