Five minutes later they were swishing through the water in the newspaperman’s motor boat.
“Might as well tell our real names,” laughed the reporter, as they sped along. “Mine’s Hargraves—Van Hargraves, of the Planet.”
Ned introduced himself and his companions. But while he was doing this, his eyes hardly left the waters ahead of them. Darkness had now shut in, but on the water there is usually a faint illumination, even if it is only from the reflected stars. But on all the expanse ahead of him the Dreadnought Boy could see nothing to indicate the boat they were in pursuit of.
“Do you know where this Bantam House, or whatever its name, is?” asked young Hargraves, as they neared the shore.
“Ought to be able to pick it up by the big clump of evergreens about it,” rejoined Ned. “They are the only trees along that part of the beach. They ought to stand up against the sky like a church.”
“If only there was a moon,” wished Herc.
“Avast there!” cried old Tom suddenly, springing to his feet and holding to the gunwale. “What’s that right on your port bow, lad? See, off there?”
He pointed shoreward, or, rather, in the direction in which they knew the shore must lie.