“That’s all right,” Tom answered composedly. “There isn’t any dog.”
“But—but I heard him,” protested the other, still nervous, as he stared suspiciously around him. “The wr-r-retched animal sprang for me. His teeth almost grazed my leg.”
Such was the power of imagination—a fine tribute to Tom’s skill as a mimic.
“Aren’t you thinking of the other night, over at Wood’s Hole, when you tried to get aboard the ‘Meteor’ to wreck the engine?”
Halstead shot this question out with disconcerting suddenness. The young skipper looked straight, keenly, into the other’s eyes, standing so that he could prevent the stranger’s sudden bolt from the pier.
“I? What do you talk about?” demanded the foreigner, pretending astonishment.
“Oh, I know all about you,” nodded Tom. “You’re the party.”
“Be careful, boy! You insult me!” cried the other angrily.
“That’s all right, then,” Tom went on coolly. “Now maybe I’m going to insult you a little more. The trouble is, I need information, and you’re the best one to give it to me. Where’s Ted Dunstan?”
“I—I—you——” stammered the foreigner. “What do I know about Ted Dunstan? No, no, no! You are wrong. I have not seen the boy—do not know him.”