Eleven o'clock struck and no Ned.
The quarter past the hour chimed on the hotel clock and jackies on their way to the boat-landing began to hurry by.
But of Ned there had been no sign.
[CHAPTER XXIII.]
A JACKIE AGAINST WOLVES.
Ned, gliding softly as a cat stalking a mouse, among the trees—choosing the shady spots to conceal his movements—soon came within earshot of the three men in whose conversation he was so deeply interested.
The moonlight, as intense as it usually is in the tropics, flooded the beautiful grounds of the hotel, making checker-work patterns of black and white beneath the tropical growth.
The Pulsifers and Mr. Varian were standing full in the center of a moonlight flooded opening as the Dreadnought Boy approached them.