“Wonder who he is?” Midge muttered. “He doesn’t resemble anyone in that boat last night.”
“Not the operator anyway,” Dan agreed. “Actually, we didn’t see the other two fellows well enough to recognize them again.”
The Cubs kept the boat in view as it maneuvered into a reserved space at the far end of the dock. Midge asked a club member, who loitered nearby, if the speedboat belonged to Mr. Manheim.
“Yes, that’s his boat,” the club member identified it.
“But that isn’t Mr. Manheim at the wheel?”
“No, the pilot is a fellow who works for him at Skeleton Island. A new man he hired a few months ago. I’ve heard him called Wilson Jabowski.”
After the club member had moved on, the three Cubs watched the Manheim boat fill its gas tank at a private pump.
“Notice her stern,” Dan whispered to his companions. “Can you see any scratches?”
“We’re too far away,” Midge returned. “But I’ll bet a frosted doughnut it was Manheim’s boat that rammed us last night! I’ll find out!”
Unable to restrain himself, the boy descended three steps to the lower level, there to inspect the craft’s hull.