Harry made his way down to the dock, where the boat had been left, with “both eyes open,” as the saying goes. He did not fear that he would miss sighting whoever came off the River Swallow as soon as they were sure that the boys had gone up town. Of course he was assuming that Malvin and the man he was certain he had spied earlier that day, would leave together. If they did this, even if they vacated the motor craft before he reached it, there was only one road that they could follow, and that was the street down which Harry was walking, the only thoroughfare that led to the dock.
As he hurried along, many thoughts surged into the lad’s mind. What was he to do in the event of the mysterious “third man” actually leaving the boat?
“I guess my best plan will be just to stick to their heels wherever they go,” he said to himself. “Yes,” he went on, busily turning matters over in his mind, “that’s the scheme. While Ralph and Harry are looking after things in town, this end of the game is up to your Uncle Dudley.”
As he neared the wharf, Harry became aware that great excitement and bustle were going forward there. The down river passenger boat had just arrived, and a number of people were struggling to disembark by way of the gang plank, while an equally determined crowd was striving to get on board. Suddenly the boy became aware of three figures among the crowd, whom he recognized instantly.
The trio was composed of Malvin, Hansen and another man.
As Harry saw this third member of the group, he almost gave vent to an involuntary cry of recognition.
The stranger was the same man whom they had encountered on Windmill Island on the eventful previous night.
There was no mistake. Harry recognized instantly every feature of the fellow’s face, which had been etched upon his mind with all the vividness of a photograph.
Harry’s pulses bounded as he made this discovery. So, then, it appeared that Ralph had been right. Unquestionably a link did exist between Windmill Island and Malvin, and also, apparently, Hansen, although the boy was morally certain that the obtuse Norwegian was merely an insignificant pawn in whatever mysterious game was being played by Malvin and the other man.
“Well, this is a discovery,” gasped the boy as he watched the three talking earnestly together, not far from where the River Swallow lay tugging at her moorings.