“He ain’t wounded at all, dad! He was fooling us!”
“Yes, the brat! He was!” shouted Stonington Hunt, blundering about in the black hold and striving to keep his footing on the pitching, heaving floor.
Tubby, guided by instinct, dashed forward toward the spot, as nearly as he could judge its location, where he had noticed the ladder. He found it, and had placed his foot on the bottom rung, when there was a sudden shock.
The motion of the sloop seemed to cease, as if by magic. Tubby felt himself hurled forward into darkness by the shock. His head crashed against something, and a world of brilliant constellations swam in a glittering array before his eyes. Then something in his head seemed to give way with a snap, and young Hopkins knew no more.
CHAPTER VIII.
EAGLES ON THE TRAIL.
“Hullo! Wonder what’s become of those two fellows?”
Merritt voiced the inquiry, as he and Rob emerged from the police station. The sergeant in charge had promised to do all he could to apprehend the stealers of the pocketbook if they were anywhere within striking distance of Aquebogue.
Rob looked about him. There stood the automobile. But of the two lads they had left to guard it there was no sign. After waiting a reasonable time, the two Boy Scout leaders began to feel real alarm.
“Somehow I feel as if Hunt and his gang have got something to do with this,” murmured Rob uneasily.
“It does seem queer,” admitted Merritt. “Let’s look around a bit more, and then, if we find no trace of them, we’ll go back to the police station and look for aid.”