In the meantime, Captain Rangler, Dampier and Walstein were making their way back to the tug from the main part of the city where they had been negotiating some purchases of supplies.
As they emerged from a cross street near the water front, their conversation was concerning Tom. Captain Rangler was just remarking, with a grin, that as soon as the letter to Chisholm Dacre was written, they could make for a certain rendezvous of theirs on an island, and wait "for the coin," when Walstein suddenly gave an exclamation, and pulled his companions into a convenient doorway.
"What the dickens—" began Dampier, startled at this move. But Captain Walstein checked him.
"Hist!" he exclaimed. "Look down there, at the bottom of this street. By all that's cussed, there goes the boy now."
"Impossible," burst forth Dampier, but Walstein threw in a swift interjection.
"By the great horn spoon, it is Tom Dacre!" he exclaimed. "How in the name of time did he escape?"
"We'll find that out later," snarled Dampier vindictively. "The thing to do now is to follow him and see what he and that chap with him are up to. Rangler, you go back to the tug. Walstein and I will follow him up. It wouldn't astonish me if he's off to put the police on our track."
"Nor me, either," agreed Walstein, as, after a few words more, Rangler hastened to the lake front, while Dampier and his companion stealthily crept off in pursuit of Tom and Jeff, who were, of course, utterly unconscious of being followed.
Reaching the police station, the two lads found, to their chagrin, only a sleepy sergeant in charge. The captain had been out all night on a case, they were informed, and, with his detectives, was now at a court-house some miles off, with his prisoners.
Tom and Jeff exchanged disgusted looks, as the official yawned and returned to reading the newspaper, in the perusal of which their entrance had interrupted him.