“No,” replied Rod, “but there’s no law in the world to prevent me from accidentally tripping up and giving him a ducking. He’d find somewhere else to stand around after that.”
“Suppose he couldn’t swim! No, I’d love to do it, but it’s too risky. Maybe he’s a detective, for all we know, waiting at the ferry to catch some one. Leave him alone for the present. The thing is beginning to get interesting.”
And it grew still more interesting within an hour or so of that conversation. Jack and the two boys had just returned from a run over to the Point with a boat-load of passengers, when Cap’n Crumbie waved his hand to the skipper, from the wharf. The lads trooped up together.
“Something’s up!” said the watchman, with a mysterious air, glancing toward two retreating figures which at that moment disappeared round the corner into Main Street.
CHAPTER VIII
JACK COUNTS HIS PROFITS
“Well, what is it?” asked Jack. “Did our friend turn out to be a detective after all and arrest some one?”
“Not so far,” replied the Cap’n. “When he shows me his badge I’ll believe he’s a cop, but not otherwise. You wouldn’t think he could say ‘boo’ to a goose, would you? But he can! A holy terror, that’s what he is, when he starts, though he looks as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”
“But what happened?” George demanded.
“Pretty near everything, except blue murder!” replied Cap’n Crumbie. “After you left he was hanging around here as usual, when another chap came down to the wharf. I was standing at the door o’ my cabin and the second feller didn’t see me. I ran my optics over him, ’cause I see he was a stranger to these parts. Well, he walked down all peaceful-like, kind o’ strolling, as though he had the whole day to himself. Martin didn’t see him coming, ’cause he was leaning up against one of the piles, at the edge o’ the wharf. Number Two had his hands in his pockets, and was as happy as a May morning, till all of a sudden he seemed to recognize Martin. He whipped his hands out of his pockets, leaned forward a bit, and said something in a low voice which sounded to me like ‘Whitey.’ Martin swung round as though he’d heard a rattlesnake.