All the Cubs waited expectantly for the answer.
“Yes, if plans work out, we’ll make it next weekend,” Mr. Hatfield answered. “The Den fathers are planning the trip.”
The Cubs began to talk about the proposed excursion, discussing what they would take with them to camp.
“Maybe we’ll see the ghost of Skeleton Island while we’re there!” Chips declared hopefully. “Or find the entrance to the old tunnel!”
The Cub meeting broke up shortly after nine o’clock. Dan and Brad remained a few minutes after the others had gone to make certain that the last embers of the beach fire had been extinguished.
Then together, they started home, selecting a route which took them along the deserted waterfront.
At Clinton Street, the boys turned at the corner, passing a cafe from which issued the discordant notes of a player piano.
On the curb outside the restaurant stood a short little man, who was munching popcorn from a paper bag. His face was sharp and weasel-like, his eyes darting and shrewd.
The Cubs might have passed him with scarcely a second glance, had he not been talking to another man who looked faintly familiar to Dan. The fellow plainly was a sailor, dark of hair and with sturdy body build.
“That fellow looks like one of the men who were in the motorboat that struck the Holloway sailboat!” Dan said in an undertone to Brad.