The men who had chartered the craft were two in number. Both were strangers in Bellport, having driven over there that afternoon from the adjacent railway station of Farmington. One was an old man, stoop-shouldered and bleary-eyed. The other was an individual of about thirty, tall, emaciated, and with a wild light dancing in his crafty eyes, which darted back and forth as if constantly on the lookout for something.
Going directly to the Bellport Hotel, they had inquired of Enos Hardcastle, the proprietor, where they could hire a motor boat.
"A fast one?" croaked the old man.
"The faster the better," supplemented his companion, in a queer, rasping voice.
Enos scratched his head.
"Wa'al, motor boat's is scarce around here, though some of ther boys uses 'em in fishing," he said finally.
"Good!" exclaimed the younger of the pair of strangers. "Direct us to the man who has the fastest one."
"That's Lem Higgins; but Lem drives a hard bargain. It'll cost ye——"
"Never mind the cost; never mind the cost," croaked the old man impatiently. "Come, Ivan, let's find this Higgins."
"You go ter ther foot of this street and you'll find Lem down on ther wharf," directed the landlord of the Bellport Hotel, whose curiosity was by this time aroused. There was something odd about the two strangers, almost as odd as the large black bag the younger one carried. This receptacle he held as gingerly as if it contained some article of the most fragile description.