Clay shook his head. His excursion into the storm had evidently proved a disappointment to him, but he made an effort not to show it.
“Of course not,” he replied. “How could I find Jule out in all that smother? He’s warm and dry somewhere.”
“Did you see the boy skulking by the warehouse as you came in?” asked Alex. “He’s been there, watching the boat, ever since you went out.”
Clay shook his head.
“There’s something odd going on around here to-night,” he said. “I don’t know what to make of it. Whew, but I’m all out of wind!” he continued, dropping down into a chair and taking off his soaked shoes.
“Where did you go?” asked Case. “What was the cop blowing his whistle for. Why did you have to run?”
“One at a time,” panted Clay. “When I got out there I found a man and a boy fighting at the end of the pier. At any rate the man was trying to get something away from the boy, and the boy was letting into him with teeth and nails. The boy was calling for help. That’s the sound we heard, only it was faint, on account of the man trying to choke him.”
“What sort of a boy was it?” asked Case, thinking of the figure he had seen walking to and fro under the light and skulking into the shelter of the warehouse when Clay came running up.
“Wait a minute,” Clay panted, “and I’ll tell you all about it. Say, who’s going to give a cup of that hot coffee? My tummy has a hole in it as big as a rainwater barrel.”
“That’s pretty close to slang!” warned Case.