“What slang?” demanded Case.
“You said that will do for you, and that was slang!”
“All right! I’ll help. But where do you think Jule is?
He was about to say more, but Clay held up a hand for silence.
While the lads stood there, listening, the sausages and coffee on the table, over which a snow-white cloth had been spread, there came a choking cry from somewhere in the darkness which lay over the pier and the warehouse. The boys still listened. Perhaps the next cry would give direction.
Presently the cry came again, evidently from the head of the pier. The boys all headed for the door, crowding against each other in their efforts to get out. A third cry, which was almost a scream, caused them to block the doorway.
“That’s Jule!” Case panted. “Let me out!”
“Wait a second, boys!” Clay advised. “That may be Jule, and it may not. Anyway, we mustn’t all leave the boat at once. This may be a trick to get us away from it. You remain here and I’ll go up the pier and call back to you if I need help.”
Still another cry came, followed, this time, by the sound of blows and running feet.
“Someone is being murdered out there!” Case exclaimed, excitedly, as Clay dashed out into the rain. “I’m not going to stay inside and let someone be killed!”