"Now, get to work, all of you," Tom ordered. "As an extra inducement you can tell your men that the one who finds Hazelton, whether dead or alive, shall have a reward of one hundred dollars. Remember the watchword for to-night, which is, 'hustle!'"
In all, some sixty men were pulled from their cots. Tom, having given the orders, walked down to the beach with his superintendent.
"You've covered everything that's possible, I think, Mr. Reade," commented the foreman.
"I think I have. But there won't be any rest for any one until we have found Hazelton."
"Are you going to have the water dragged?"
"Not before daylight—-perhaps not then," Reade replied. "I can't bring myself to believe that Harry was thrown into the water and that he drowned there."
"It'll take the chief a day or two to realize that," sighed the superintendent to himself. "Yet that is exactly what has happened. The chief won't believe it, though, until the body is found."
Down on the beach there was really nothing for Tom and his head man to do after the arrival of the foremen and their gangs. Everything went ahead in an orderly manner.
"I don't suppose you could get any rest, under the circumstances, Mr. Reade," hinted the superintendent, "yet that is just what you are going to need."
"Rest?" echoed Tom, gazing at the man, in a strange, wide-eyed way, while a grim smile flickered around the corners of his mouth. "What have rest and I to do with each other just now?"