There was plenty of room for landing, and when the Hawk had been brought within a couple of feet of the ground Matt dropped over the rail and Ferral took his seat among the levers.
As Matt hurried to the board walk, and on to the wharf at the Inlet, he looked around him for some officer whom he could pick up and take along with him. There was no officer in sight, however.
It was the dinner hour at the big hotels, and promenaders had nearly all deserted the ocean front. A dozen or more sailboats were heaving to the swell and knocking against the wharf at the Inlet, but only a few of the men belonging with them were on the wharf itself.
"Can you tell me where the Crescent is?" Matt asked of a man leaning against an electric-light pole.
"Jest seen 'er standin' in," was the reply. "She ought to be at the end of the wharf by this time."
"Is that where she lies when she's tied up?"
"Yes."
Thinking that surely he would find McMillan, or some other officer, at the end of the wharf, ready to deal with Jurgens the moment he tried to come ashore, Matt hurried on.
The Crescent had just warped into her berth. A man on the wharf was making her cable fast. Under the electric light Matt could see a group of three or four men in the cockpit of the little sailing craft. At about the same moment, a figure lurched forward from behind a barrel that stood on the wharf. The gleam of a star on the coat informed Matt that the man was an officer.
"Hello, there!" the young motorist called to the group in the cockpit. "Where's that man you picked up off the Heinz pier?"