“Yes. A man whom they call Bill interviewed me, too, and warned me to mind my own affairs around here. He has a lot of people fishing for him and ships the fish. I rather think that Bill does a little rum-running, for there is much drinking in the village. Bill may ship that, too, for all I know. You may have to convince Bill that you are not employed by the government to detect rum-runners.”
“If Bill inquires,” said Mr. Tudor with a smile, “you may tell him from me that I am not a prohibition agent, though I might do my duty as a citizen in that line, if necessary. However, I’ve another purpose, and I’ll mightily enjoy this woods of yours.
“By the way, I’d like to interview some of those interesting foreign citizens in the village. The setting for them here is just a little more intriguing than in New York, for a change. A friend of yours down there told me a good deal about you. What sort of a chap is Tom Carey?”
“Oh, Tom Carey is straight and all right, if he does work for Bill. Bill has taken a notion to Tom and I suppose he finds him smarter and more reliable than most of his workers. You will have to be careful if you interview those foreigners. Bill may not like it.”
“I see. I’m to be careful about one Mr. Bill Ritter.”
They were pushing through the woods as they talked. Presently they reached the road where a man waited with a heavily-laden mule. Evan Tudor picked up a typewriter from the protection of some bushes and Dalton gathered up a suitcase, which he saw by the side of the road, and a basket of what he judged were groceries. “It was quite a walk for you with these things,” he said.
“Not so bad,” said Mr. Tudor. “I had help and the mule carries the most of the outfit.”
It took almost as much time to get through the woods as to unload the outfit, but Dalton assured Mr. Tudor that in the direction of their camp the woods would be found more open and that it was not as far as it seemed. Evan Tudor was delighted with the camping spot and started at once to set up his small tent and arrange his supplies. Dalton began to help him, but the departing man, after he had received his pay, waited a few moments and then asked Dalton to “walk a piece” with him. “I want to ask ye somethin’,” he said.
There was a twinkle in Evan Tudor’s eye as he glanced after them. He hoped that Dalton would establish what the modern youth sometimes calls his “alibi” and successfully divert suspicion; for Evan Tudor was on a quest.
“Say,” said the man, as he and Dalton had reached a spot out of hearing and Dalton stopped, not thinking it necessary to go any farther. “Say, Bill wants to know what this chap is up to. Is he any coast guard feller?”