“Sure, I’m sure, Sonny. And like I told you, the grin was the same too.”
“Then he was dead, Pop—dead all the time, an’ somebody with an automatic did it because the second mate said he dreamed he heard somebody runnin’ an’ then he heard a muffled kicker shoving off aft like I saw when we come along. Whoever had that automatic was in that kicker, Pop. I got a hunch about it.”
“I hope the coppers believe you, Sonny. But c’mon, we’ll take the chance. Anyways, I’ll tell what I know.”
They walked forward together and were just about to descend when they saw a long, dark painted launch shoot alongside of the Minnie M. Baxter. As Skippy and his father leaned over to get a better view they were blinded with the glaring rays of a searchlight.
“Coppers, Pop!” Skippy hissed. “It’s the coppers!”
“COPPERS, POP!” SKIPPY HISSED. “IT’S THE COPPERS!” Frontispiece
Toby gripped his son’s trembling fingers in his own.
“Don’t move, Dare!” a deep voice commanded from the police launch.
“I’m not,” Toby answered hoarsely.