And a little later they landed at that resort, which had closed unusually early, for some reason.
“All right—cast off!” Jack had called as they neared the dock, and the Dixie, with trailing rope, ran up to it under her own momentum, while the other craft swung off into the darkness, the boys calling their thanks to the men.
“And if they only knew who it was they had given a tow to!” chuckled Walter.
“They’ll know, soon enough,” replied Jack. “We’ve got to look up a boat to take us to Denny Shane’s. We’ve simply got to get there.”
And while the boys were thus looking for a boat to take the place of the disabled Dixie, the plotters, in their swift Pickerel, were hastening toward the little cove where the fisherman’s cabin stood.
The men in the boat were Moran, the slow-moving character whom Cora had seen in the store; Bruce, the “society” chap; Kelly, a blunt and unscrupulous Irishman, who handled the money for the factory interests, and a man to run the boat. He had been brought in at the last minute.
“We lost a lot of time, towing those chumps,” grumbled Moran, as the Pickerel forged ahead.
“Well, we were early,” said Bruce. “I’ve had a man keeping watch on Shane’s shack, and he was late getting in. He telephoned to me. It’s just as well to let Shane get a bit settled before we tackle him. He was out fishing until long after dark.”
Then the engineer slowed down the powerful motor as they came up to the dock.
It was this sound that Cora and her chums heard.