“Looks like her picture,” was the answer.
“Want to hail your good friend Sam?” inquired Tom.
“No, I don’t,” said David. “He might throw something out here that the girls wouldn’t like.”
“Oh, don’t mind us,” exclaimed Milly and Sarah in chorus.
“I don’t know what the smack—if it is Dave’s boat—is doing around here,” said Tuckerman. “There can’t be much to steal from that island.”
For a time the Argo bobbed about, but there came no hail from the boat, no light appeared, she might have been a ship without a crew.
“Let sleeping hornets lie,” Tuckerman advised. And at the suggestion Tom sheered away. The Argo sailed up the shore of the island and pointed her bow toward the twinkling lights of the town.
They were all enjoying the breeze, the star-sprinkled sky, the soft swish of the water against the side of the boat when Ben, from a brown study, spoke. “If the men on that smack are the thieves who broke into Mr. Fitzhugh’s house, might they be hunting around here for the Cotterell treasure?”
“Well, I wish them luck at finding it,” said David.
“Thieves who broke into Mr. Fitzhugh’s house!” cried Milly. “Oh, do tell us about that!”