“Plenty,” nodded Michael, “if the rapscallions knew their way about the old island. But, by the same token, the rascals would be in plenty of danger of being found by the constables.”
“Of course Mr. Dunstan is having the local officers search,” pondered Tom aloud. “He said he would. He can telegraph the mainland from the island, too, can’t he, Michael?”
“Sure,” nodded the coachman.
“Then Mr. Dunstan must have waked up some pretty big searching parties by this time, both on the island and on the mainland,” Halstead concluded. “But see here, Michael, why wouldn’t it be a good plan to put you ashore? You can telephone Mr. Dunstan and see if there’s any news.”
“And if there ain’t any,” suggested the Irishman, “I might as well be going home across the island on foot, and keeping me eyes open. I can ask questions as I go along, and maybe be the first of all to find out any rale news.”
“That’ll be the best plan of any,” approved Halstead. “It begins to look more sure, every minute, that we’re not going to need your fine lot of muscle.”
At the lower end of the east coast of the island Tom remembered having seen a pier that would serve them for landing the Irishman. They made for that pier accordingly and Michael leaped ashore.
“I’ll telephone and then come back within sight,” the coachman called back to them, as he started. “If ’tis good news I’m hearing, I’ll throw up me hat two or three times. If ’tis no news, I’ll wave a hand.”
The “Meteor” then fell off, but kept to her bearings while ten minutes passed. Then Michael appeared in sight from the shore. He waved one hand and signed to the boys to keep on their course.
“Too bad!” sighed Tom. “But it makes it more certain than ever now, doesn’t it, Joe, that some real disaster has happened to young Ted Dunstan? It’s past the lad’s dinner time now. No healthy boy goes without either luncheon or dinner, unless there’s a big reason for it.”