“Hey! What you trying to do? Swamp us, with your wake?” demanded an irate fisherman in a dory, as they raced past him.
But they had gone only close enough to enable big Michael, standing on the deck house, to peer at the inside of the dory.
Several other small craft without cabins they ran close to in the same manner, making sure that no stolen boy was on any of them.
Up near Great Point they encountered a cabin sloop. Michael, however, recognized a clergyman friend as one of this party, so Halstead passed them with only a friendly toot from the auto whistle.
Then down around the east coast of Nantucket they sped, further out to sea now, since inshore no craft were observed. They kept on until the south coast, too, had been passed, but there was no sign to gladden their eyes nor arouse their suspicions. Next along the south shore of the island the “Meteor” raced, and on out to Muskeget Island. From this point they had only to round the latter island and steer straight back for the inlet where Mr. Dunstan’s pier lay.
“Sure, I don’t like to go back stumped like this,” growled Michael.
“No more do I,” rejoined Tom. “Say, we’ve got daylight enough; I’m going to retrace our whole course and keep in closer to shore.”
Joe, who for some time had been on deck, nodded his approval. Cutting a wide sweep, Tom headed back, going now within a quarter of a mile of the shore.
“It begins to look,” hinted Joe, “as though whoever is leading the young Dunstan heir astray hasn’t taken him off the island of Nantucket at all.”
“There are plenty of hiding places on Nantucket, aren’t there?” inquired Tom, turning to the big coachman.