“Guess the feller was home and abed before your men started to look for him,” grunted the Cap’n. “’Taint likely he’d stand around and wait to be caught, is it? ’Course, if he hadn’t been in the water he might, but being sort o’ wet—” Cap’n Crumbie’s labored sarcasm ended in a derisive snort.
“Come, now, Crumbie, let’s get this thing straight. I understand that you didn’t actually see the man. That’s so, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s so, but—”
“But you’re sure there was somebody there, are you?”
“Sure? ’Course I’m sure! Didn’t I nearly pull my arms off going after him in the dory?”
“H-m, yes, I dare say. Well, I’ll put a man on the wharf for the next few nights and maybe we’ll catch the fellow at it again. How’ll that do?”
“Well, that’ll help,” admitted the Cap’n, more calmly. “But, all the same, it ain’t much use locking the stable door when the cat’s out o’ the bag!” And he and Jack departed, taking what satisfaction they might from their visit.
During the course of the morning Martin and his friend Hegan came down to the wharf, and Jack eyed the pair suspiciously.
“Ferry doing good business, huh?” Martin enquired, cordially.
“Quite, thanks,” replied Jack, with his eyes glued on a patch on Martin’s trouser leg. He was sure now that the man had worn a different suit on the day following the visit of the midnight intruder on the Sea-Lark. Unfortunately the scrap of cloth left on the nail was far too small to serve as conclusive evidence, and for all Jack could affirm to the contrary the small patch on Martin’s trousers might have been there for years.