Fearlessly the young detective hopped aboard this fishing schooner. For a moment his light flashed here and there.
“No one,” he muttered.
Hopping ashore, he made his way to the scow supporting the dredge. Having reached it, he dropped on hands and knees, to creep its entire length. From time to time, with the aid of his flashlight, he examined several posts and the outer surface of the scow. When at last he stood once more upon his feet it was with a grunt of satisfaction.
“Went south,” he muttered. “Speed boat, all right. Wonder how far? Go up the river in the morning. Find out—”
His thoughts were broken short off by the bark of an automatic. One shot, that was all; then silence.
With the spring of a panther Drew was off the barge, across the narrow open space and lost in the labyrinth of sleeping cars.
In an astonishingly short time he was close to the scene of the mysterious kidnaping.
“Tom! Tom Howe!” he called softly. “Are you there?”
There came no answer. Only from the river came the hollow bump-bump of the fishing schooner. “Tom! Tom Howe!” he called. Still no answer.
Then, without warning, the car before him began to move. For lack of a better thing to do, he hopped aboard and went rattling away into the city’s great depot.