“I’ve a notion,” remarked Ralph, as they walked up the path leading from the boat landing to the large, handsome house that topped a rising knoll, “I’ve a notion that others than ourselves might be interested in hearing about that ghost craft.”
“Who, for instance?” asked Harry.
“Why, the authorities. I’ve a strong inclination to report the matter to the Canadian police when we run over there to-night.”
“Why not kill two birds with one stone and run into Cardinal? We could find out there how our young friend is getting along, and also do what you suggest. But what makes you think the authorities would be interested in the matter?”
“Why, just this. That craft is engaged in some sort of nefarious business, probably smuggling. It’s the only plausible explanation for the conduct of those on board her, and all their devices to throw pursuing craft off her track.”
“Smuggling! I guess you’ve hit the nail on the head, all right, Ralph. But why should she have been seen off this island?”
“That is exactly what I want to find out,” was Ralph’s rejoinder. “In fact, if I wasn’t so certain that some link exists between that queer, night-roving boat and Dexter Island, I wouldn’t take so much trouble to run all possible clews down.”
“Hark! What was that?” exclaimed Harry Ware suddenly, stopping and wheeling right about face.
“What?”
“I heard a rustling sound in that clump of bushes,” explained the boy.