Once more the Petrel sailed up the lake, this time toward the Everglades. Cora thought of that day when she and Bess dared take the same journey, when the strange man sat at the willowed shore ostensibly making sketches. She thought now that his work then must have been the forging of a letter to hand the poor demented hermit of Fern Island.
"The shack is just over there, Jack," she said, pointing out the willows.
"There's another boat anchored there," Jack said. "It looks like an important craft too."
He had seen it before. It was the very boat in which the detective and the police officer sailed up to the far island the morning they came searching for evidence in the Jones' case.
"The path is narrow," Cora said, "but I happen to know it." She led the way.
"There are men!" exclaimed Laurel as they neared the shack.
Two men were trying to force open the low window. Cora drew back, for one of the men was in uniform.
"I suppose they have not finished the case," Jack ventured, and at that very moment he would have given a great deal to have had his sister and Laurel back at camp.
The men had not yet seen them. They forced open the window, and were now inside.
"Let us turn back," Jack suggested. "They may ask us questions—"