“Good-night, then, Rexford. Caution and good luck!”
“Good-night, Mr. Bolton. We’ll both be richer when I see you again,” laughed the red-haired one, recklessly.
Justin Bolton walked rapidly away. Had Tom Halstead wished to follow, he could not have done so. Rexford, sitting in the nearby car, would have been sure to see the boy.
Ten minutes passed. Then another crunching was heard on the gravel. This time the young motor boat captain felt as though his heart must stop beating. The two strange men now appeared, carrying the helpless form of Francis Delavan between them.
“Stow him in carefully. Drop these blankets over him,” directed Rexford. Francis Delavan, bound and gagged for the journey, was placed in the bottom of the tonneau and covered over. One of the men got in beside him, the other sitting on the front seat with Calvin Rexford.
Honk! The toot from the automobile’s horn was unintentionally jeering, for Tom Halstead was left behind, helpless, at the very instant when he longed, as never before, to be of the utmost service.
CHAPTER XIV
THE MELTING OF MILLIONS
IT would have been worse than useless to have tried to jump into the breach just before the car started. At the least, Tom Halstead would have been made a prisoner by these desperate plotters.
Free, though he could not immediately aid Mr. Delavan, the young skipper could at least carry word of what he had seen. He could rouse Eben Moddridge to action, or, anyway, to the putting up of money that would put other and more capable men in action.