“No, keep away,” decided Frank. “It might make trouble. Let’s wait until Mr. Farson comes.”
It was nearly dusk when they saw a small launch approaching the island, and they recognized the jeweler as one of the occupants.
“He doesn’t seem very joyous,” remarked Tom. “He isn’t waving his hat, or anything like that.”
Somehow his words brought a feeling of doubt to his chums, yet they could not tell why. Nearer came the launch. It drew up to the little dock the boys had made.
“Well?” queried Tom, nervously. “How did you make out?”
“Not at all,” was the surprising reply.
“What! Didn’t you get the things?” demanded Phil.
“No. The pawnbroker closed out his place of business last week, and the store is vacant.”
For a moment no one spoke. Then Frank said:
“But look here. You know a pawnbroker has to be licensed. He can’t go out of business that way. He may move, but he has to let people know about it. And he can’t dispose of their things inside of a year, either. That man had no right to do that.”