“Ann!” her father cried at sight of her. “Are you all right? Where’s Ben?” He held her tightly, as if he wanted to make sure that his daughter was once more safe beside him.
“Ben’s down in the hold. Oh, dad! I thought you’d never get here! I won’t try to solve another mystery without telling you beforehand.”
“‘Mystery’?” repeated Mr. Seymour. “Why are you children here? I thought that you went to put out a fire in the woods.” In spite of his relief at seeing Ann unharmed he kept his gun pointed in a very businesslike manner. “Who are these men? And who is this, tied up?”
“That chap is Warren Bain,” said Mr. Bailey. “He’s been hanging around the cove all season. No one knows aught of him.”
“He’s a detective!” announced Ann in great excitement.
“You’d better fasten those two before you do much talking,” advised Bain dryly, speaking for the first time. “In my coat pocket, Bailey.”
A bit doubtingly Mr. Bailey put his hand into Bain’s pocket and took out two pairs of handcuffs. Finding them there seemed to assure him of the truth of Ann’s statement and his manner was quite different as he snapped them around the wrists of Tom and Charlie. Ann and Jo, and Mr. Seymour, too, never had seen that done and for the moment all their attention was given to that grim proceeding.
Then, “Where’s Ben?” Mr. Seymour asked again.
“In the hold,” answered Jo, “and I guess we’d better be getting him out. He’ll be pretty cold and wet.”
Mr. Bailey had cut the strips of blanket that bound Warren Bain, and now the detective stood on his two feet again, stretching his aching arms and legs and back. “Boy in the hold,” he said. “I was wondering where the third one of you was keeping himself. Well, with the tide that there’s likely to be to-night, it is lucky we can get him up before the hold is half full of water.”