Malvin had the wheel with orders to steer direct for Dexter Island. Ralph had already questioned the man and, as Harry Ware had prophesied, Malvin, the inscrutable, had his excuses all down “pat.”
It was as he had said, he declared. The swift current at the point from which the lads had left the larger craft in the tender had caused the anchor to drag. Caught by the swift current, and with only the Norwegian to run the engines, Malvin declared he had had a narrow escape from going on the rocks.
His story was circumstantial, direct, and told without the flicker of an eyelid. Ralph had no choice but to accept it, as well as Malvin’s explanation that he had been searching for the boys ever since he had regained control of the large craft.
It is almost unnecessary to say that Ralph, in view of his suspicions of the man, did not believe, at least as a whole, Malvin’s carefully detailed story. In fact, he resolved to question the Norwegian hand at some later time. But it may as well be stated here that from Hansen, a stolid fellow who fully lived up to his title of “squarehead,” the boys were able to glean but little.
Ralph and his chums slept till noon. They were astonished when Harry Ware, the first to awaken, peeped out of a porthole and announced that they were lying at the dock at Dexter Island.
“Confound that fellow Malvin,” muttered Ralph. “I told him to call us as soon as we landed off the island. We must have got here more than two hours ago, and yet he let us sleep; just another instance of his carelessness.”
There came a knock on the cabin door.
“Come in,” cried Ralph, and then, as Malvin entered with a folded paper in his hand, he demanded why they had not been called.
“My father was expecting——” began Ralph, when Malvin interrupted him.
“Begging your pardon, sir, here is a note from your father.”