“What was it?” Tom eagerly demanded.
“Simply this: ‘Oceanside, 332.’”
“What do you make of that, Joe?”
“Telephone number is my guess.”
“It must be. You put the message back under the rock?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Then, see here, Joe. I’m going to slip into the woods and hurry on ahead to Nantucket. I’ll find out where ‘Oceanside, 332,’ is. You follow Gambon, and see if he goes to a telephone. If he does, try to hear what’s said. Whatever you do to-night, though, Joe, don’t let Gambon get out of your sight. Remember, slim as it is, it’s our last chance!”
“And you?”
“All I can say,” Tom replied, “is that you’ll see me again, old fellow, whenever and wherever we happen to meet. Good-by, now, and be sharp to-night.”
“Good luck to you, Tom.”