Naturally Alec made his way with caution as he neared the river. The path to the little bridge led through the marsh reeds, which were head high. Alec could see hardly a thing and had to feel his way along with his feet. He blamed himself for his thoughtlessness in not bringing his bright carbide lamp, or at least slipping his flash-light into his pocket. Now he would have to be mighty careful or he would find himself in the water again. He had had quite enough experiences of this sort, so he went on with the greatest caution. Ahead of him he could occasionally hear a loud voice, that was instantly hushed. He went on until he reached the plank bridge, which he started to cross with the utmost care.
The instant he was fairly out of the reeds, he knew where the sounds of voices came from. Floating on the tide, close beside the plank bridge, was a tiny house-boat, or cabin, as the oystermen commonly called it. Alec knew that the cabin was occupied by a rough-looking man, named Frank Hawkins, who had a great scar across his cheek, and whom he had seen about the oyster wharves at times. Beyond the fact that Hawkins was a rather rough character, Alec knew little about the man. He had heard Captain Bagley say that the fellow never did an honest day's work in his life. But Alec would have given small heed to this, had be not now distinctly caught the name "Cap'n Rumford."
Alec stopped as though he were shot. The sound came from within the little cabin, which Alec could now dimly distinguish, for faint rays of light shone through the cracks of the shuttered windows and under the door. The subdued hum of voices told Alec that several men must be inside the cabin. He wondered why they should have shut up the tiny house-boat so tight, as though this were a fierce winter night instead of a warm, July evening. And he wondered why they should be eating at this hour, for the smell of cooking came plainly to his nose.
For some moments Alec stood motionless, straining his ears to catch what was said within the cabin. Suddenly it occurred to him that he was eavesdropping. He started to move on, when again the same rough voice that had said "Cap'n Rumford," boomed out, "We can get ten thousand bushels." The rest of the sentence was drowned in a babel of protests. "Shut up! Don't talk so loud!" cried half a dozen voices angrily. Then the voices sank down to a murmur again.
Instantly Alec realized that something evil was afoot. What did all this mean? Why should these men be whispering together in a tightly closed cabin? They could get ten thousand bushels of what? That was easy to guess. Ten thousand bushels of oysters, of course. That was all anybody at Bivalve ever thought about—oysters. But why should they be getting oysters now, in July? They couldn't sell them. What would they do with them?
Then it came to Alec like a flash. They must mean seed-oysters. There would be a ready sale for them, even in July. Of course everybody would know the seed had been taken illegally, as the state beds were closed at the end of June. But there were some oystermen dishonest enough to buy them for all that. Immediately there came into Alec's mind the thought of his first morning on the Bertha B and the remembrance of the oyster-boat that had fouled her. Distinctly he recalled Captain Bagley's statement about Captain Hardy: "That fellow ought to be doing time in Trenton. He's always up to something crooked. The last time they caught him he was dredging illegally in the natural beds. He got off with a fine but I reckon the next time he gets caught in any crooked business, he'll go to prison."
Once more the voices in the cabin grew loud. "I tell you I know. I've been pumping old Flint. He planted more'n a thousand bushels to the acre." Again the great, booming voice was stilled by warning cries within the cabin. "Shut up! Do you want to get us all in trouble!"
Alec heard a door open. Quick as a flash he knelt on the narrow plank and crouched as low as he could. A shaft of light shot athwart the darkness, though fortunately it did not fall on him. A head was poked out into the night. "Nobody round," said a voice, as the head disappeared and the door was slammed shut again.
Alec waited to hear no more. The instant the hum of voices again arose within the cabin, he tiptoed down the plank bridge to the Osprey, cast off his lines, and picking up an oar, sculled rapidly away from the float. He had heard all he needed to hear, and seen more than was good for his peace of mind. The head that had been thrust out into the night was that of Jim Wallace, the very shell collector who had tried to buy Alec's rattlers, and who had threatened him with harm. And though he had not seen him, Alec was no less certain that the loud-voiced man in the cabin was Captain Tom Hardy. The voice that came booming out of the cabin was surely the voice Alec had heard that first morning on the Bertha B.
Nor could there be any greater uncertainty about the meaning of Captain Hardy's statement concerning the oysters. Captain Flint was the skipper of one of the Rumford boats. Alec knew that he had made a heavy planting on a new bed. Captain Flint was a good sailor and a capable oysterman, but he had one failing. He liked to boast. Evidently Captain Hardy had craftily drawn him out and had discovered what a thick planting Captain Flint had made. The temptation was too great for the crooked oysterman. He knew for sure that he could get ten thousand bushels of good seed-oysters in one little bed, and get them very easily. Now he was evidently laying plans to do it.