"Why, it's jes' this way. Right arter your friend drove down this way, I meets a Jap pluggin' along the road. He asks me to drive him to some point near to the Neck."
"What's that?" Herc had suddenly galvanized into interest. A Jap! And in the vicinity of the place where Ned was carrying on his confidential observations! There was food for thought here.
The old cabby, with a look of astonishment at Herc's sudden and vehement interest, repeated his story.
"He were a mighty onery looking Jap, too," he volunteered; "but, Lord bless yer, if I was ter inquire into the character of everyone that rode in this here cab, it's not much business that I'd be doin'."
As they jogged along over the sandy road, Herc had plenty of material for reflection. Of course, it might be only a far-fetched conclusion, but it appeared reasonable to suppose that the Jap whom Chuck had driven was none other than Saki.
If this was the case, Herc was almost certain that the Oriental and Kenworth had an appointment on the Neck. It was not likely, either, that they were there for any legitimate purpose, inasmuch as one had deserted from his ship and the other had overstayed his leave for the purpose.
"I'm certain that their presence there meant harm to good old Ned," muttered Herc gloomily. "My! what a tangle this thing is getting into."
The old hack jolted over the bridge and began traversing the streets of Civic Island. Ordinarily Herc would have found much to look at. The Island is one of the most remarkable places in the vicinity of New York. In summer the inlet between the island and the main land is crowded with houseboats and pleasure craft of all kinds.
Its one main street, bordered by gimcrack restaurants and rickety boarding-houses, interspersed with a few stores, is thronged with white-garbed yachtsmen and girls in brightly colored blazers and duck skirts. There is music everywhere, from wheezy orchestrions to wandering string orchestras. It is a veritable summer city by the sea. With the first blast of cold weather the pageant vanishes, and Civic Island is deserted of its butterfly population almost overnight.
But there is another aspect to life on this remarkable island. On the side opposite to that devoted to catering to the summer guests, is a strange colony of beach-combers, fishermen and more or less languishing boat-works. In this part of the island, too, are laid up the gaunt skeletons of various yachts which have competed for the America Cup.