That seemed to put an end to further questions; but Lanky, after considering the matter for a moment, inquired, “Whose place is this?”
“It belongs to Mr. Hastings,” said the butler, eyeing the boys most disapprovingly. “He is not at home at present. But I can answer any questions for him.”
Neither Lanky nor Tom, however, could think of any questions to ask. It seemed absurd to tell this fishy-eyed servant that they had followed the three men from the cove. And after all the men might have a perfect right to have entered the house.
“Very well,” said Tom, and turned on his heel, followed by Lanky.
But when they were out in the lane again, Lanky said, “I’m going to wait around here a little longer. That servant’s a fool. Anybody could put anything over on him.”
So they climbed up on the stone wall on the other side of the lane and sat there like two sentries.
XIII—ON THE FISHING-SMACK
When Tom and Lanky had turned to the right and investigated the fishermen’s shanties that were nearest to the marshes, David had turned to the left, in the direction of the ocean. He had no particular object in view, except to see what the man they had met on the other bank of the cove was doing and exchange a few more words with him, if the opportunity offered.
He looked through the clutter of small, weatherbeaten sheds without seeing the man, and came to the beach on the ocean side. A short distance to the south was a spit of sand, and there, seated on a log, was the fellow with the straw hat.
David enjoyed an argument. He was not by nature so curious about other people as Ben was, but he liked to tease. So, with his hands stuck in his pockets and a little swagger in his walk, he went toward the man.