When he pushed up his goggles, after alighting, the boys saw that the newcomer was a tall, well-built man of middle age. But what might have been a clever, good-looking face was marred by an expression of fixed sullenness and aggression.
“Well, what’s all this?” he muttered rather gruffly, as he stared at the two lads. As for Mr. Dancer, even if his exclamation of recognition had not told them, the boys would have known that he was no stranger to the new arrival.
“What do you want?” he exclaimed, as the man motioned inquiringly toward the two boys.
“A few words with you alone, Mr. Dancer.”
Then, as the inventor hesitated:
“Come; I’m in no mood to be trifled with.”
Under the tan that overspread his rather wizened features the inventor turned pale.
“You must excuse me a minute,” he said, turning to the boys.
Then he and the newcomer turned, the latter having leaned his motorcycle against the fence, and they entered the territory beyond the forbidding palings that marked the dwelling place of the White Shark.