Another glance at the snoring negro, and Tom Halstead stealthily worked his feet in through the hatchway. His body followed. He twisted and wriggled until he had got himself as far back into the limited space as was possible. His head was where he could gaze out into the cockpit of the launch.
“I know just what a sardine feels like, anyway, after the packer gets through with it,” reflected the boy, dryly. He stretched a little, to avoid as much as possible the cramping of his body.
Then he had a wait of many minutes, though at last the hail of Alvarez was heard from the shore. It took a second call to rouse the sleeping Pedro.
“Now, quick out of this,” ordered the Spaniard. “Get up the anchor. Then take your place by the engine.”
Alvarez himself went forward to the wheel at the bow. The launch was soon under way, moving at what appeared to be its usual speed, about six miles an hour.
“Neither one has seen me in here,” thought Tom, tensely. “Oh, what huge luck if they go through the trip without seeing me!”
Though Halstead could not even guess it, from where he lay, the launch took a north-easterly course along the coast, and was presently about two miles from shore.
“Pedro,” chuckled the Spaniard, at last, looking back at the negro who squatted by the engine, “if my own father saw me now would he know me for Emilio Alvarez? Would he?”
“He’d be a wondahful smart man if he did, fo’ shuah,” grinned the negro.
“In this disguise I would hardly be afraid to walk about in Nantucket,” continued Señor Alvarez. “I doubt if any of my enemies would recognize me. They——”