“Good-bye.”
Joe hung up the receiver and looked around for Jim to leave a message with him explaining his short absence. But Barclay was not in sight at the moment, and Joe hastily put on his hat, dashed out, hailed a taxicab, and a moment later was being whizzed uptown.
Not more than ten minutes had passed before the cab drew up at the end of the pier, which at that time was almost deserted.
“Here you are, sir,” announced the driver.
Joe stepped out and paid him.
A large motor boat lay at the pier. As Joe looked around, a man stepped forward.
“This Mr. Matson, sir?” he questioned respectfully.
“Yes,” answered Joe.
“Mr. McRae told us to wait for you here, sir. The yacht’s lying a little way out. Will you step on board, sir?”
Joe stepped into the boat, the moorings were cast off, and to the “chug chug” of the engine the boat darted out on the dark waters of the bay.