“Cut it out, Eddie,” he said. “No rough stuff here.”
“Who are these kids?”
“How should I know? Never saw ’em before.”
“They were standing outside the cafe, watching,” Eddie informed the proprietor. “When we came in, they followed. I say, throw ’em out.”
The proprietor hesitated, reluctant to antagonize either party.
“Throw ’em out!” Paper Bag Eddie repeated in a tone not to be denied.
“I’m sorry, boys,” the proprietor apologized. “I don’t want any trouble here. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“We’ll go,” Brad said. “Come on, Dan.”
In sliding out from the booth seat, Dan bestowed another glance upon the man Paper Bag Eddie had called “Frisk.” More than ever he was convinced that he had not been mistaken in identifying him as the motorboat operator.
“I’ve seen you before,” he said, halting beside the table. “You were handling the wheel of the motorboat that struck our dinghy!”