“I’m heading straight along the usual course now,” Tom replied.
“Right! You are. I guess you know your way from the chart, though you’ve never seen these waters before. Keep on. I won’t interfere unless I see you going wrong.”
“Shall I head straight on for the island?” asked Halstead. “Or would you rather keep close to the mainland until we see how the engine behaves?”
“Keep right on, captain, unless your judgment forbids.”
Tom, therefore, after a brief talk with his chum through the open hatchway, held to his course, to the south of which lay the big island of Martha’s Vineyard, now well populated by summer pleasure seekers.
Notch by notch Joe let out the speed, though he was too careful to be in a hurry about that. He wanted to study his machine until he knew it as he did the alphabet. Every fresh spurt pleased the owner greatly.
“Your Club has some great fellows in it if you two are specimens,” said Mr. Dunstan delightedly. “Prescott knew what he was writing when he told me to stand by anything you wanted to do.”
By the time when they had the Vineyard fairly south of them and the craft was going at more than a twenty-mile gait, Tom judged that he should inform the owner of the happening of the night before. He therefore called Joe up from the motor to take the wheel. Then Halstead told Mr. Dunstan what had taken place, exhibiting the fragment of cloth secured by Bouncer and connecting this, in theory, with the swarthy man they had seen aboard the train.
Bouncer, looking up in his master’s face and whining, seemed anxious to confirm Tom Halstead’s narration.
“Why, there’s something about all this that will make it well for us all to keep our eyes open,” said Mr. Dunstan.