“Why, the one that met you out here between the shore and the woods yonder,” explained John.
“Did you see any one?”
“We certainly did,” said John. “We saw you meet a man out here and hand him something.”
Fred was convinced that there was a momentary gleam of anger or alarm in the expression of the stranger’s face, but if so the feeling quickly departed. In a low voice the man said, “There are some great stories told about this island. My advice to you is not to stay any longer than you are compelled to.”
“And our feeling is,” laughed Fred somewhat ruefully, “that any time we spend here is wasted.”
“I think you’ll have to stay,” said the man as he went back and stepped on board his skiff. He then pushed out from the shore and speedily resumed his place on board the motor-boat.
The anchor was hauled in and in a brief time the fleet little craft had resumed its voyage, headed now for the southern point of Western Duck Island.
“That beats anything I have ever seen. I tell you, Fred, there’s something wrong here. Don’t you think we had better go back in the woods and see if we cannot find that man who came out of there a little while ago?”
“We might as well do that as anything,” assented Fred, and quickly climbing the bank once more, they started across the field which intervened between them and the woods. As nearly as possible they were following the path taken by the others some time before.
They had not gone far, however, before John suddenly stopped and picked up an envelope which he saw lying on the ground.