“When I first saw him,” Tom went on, showing his animated face at the hatchway, “I didn’t think much about him. But the second time I looked I thought I saw something that brought back recollections. That was why I came down here for a near-sighted peep through the glasses. The fellow couldn’t see me down here and so ought not to suspect that we have noticed him particularly.”
“But who is he?” cried Joe eagerly.
“Oh, he’s the right man, all right,” Tom retorted perhaps vaguely. “He’s got on either the same pair or another pair just like ’em.”
“Pair? Of what?” demanded Joe.
“Trousers, of course, you dull old simpleton!” whipped out Halstead. “Joe, it’s the same old pattern of brown, striped——”
“The Span——”
“The pirate, I call him,” growled Halstead, stepping up on deck and replacing the binoculars in their rack without another look ashore. They were rapidly leaving astern the solitary one seated against the pier rail.
“Do you think——” began Joe, but Tom gave him no chance to finish.
“I don’t think anything,” broke in Halstead, alive with energy. “I am going to know—that’s what.”
Tom took the wheel himself, swinging the craft around a point of land just ahead.