“Anchor down?”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
“Lower away on the boat and place the portable search-light in it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Presently came the sound of the ropes running out through the davits which supported a small, light motor tender used by the River Swallow.
“All gone?” asked Ralph, as he heard the splash that announced that the tender had struck the water.
“Yes, sir. But if you’ll pardon my making a suggestion, there’s no use waiting round here, sir. The current’s bad, sir, and I doubt if the anchor will hold.”
“I’ll decide that, Malvin. Get the search-light into the tender as I told you.”
“Very well, sir.”
“It’s odd,” mused Ralph, “that that fellow Malvin wants to try to block every move we make to unravel the mystery of that gray motor boat. What can be his motive unless he is interested in her? I’ve got a suspicion that this is a big game we’ve blundered into, but I mean to see it through as far as I can. Dad hates a quitter—boy or man—and I know that when I tell him about to-night’s work he’ll agree with me that I acted for the best.”