Dick was so honest himself that he was rarely looking for treachery in others. Matt made no response to what he had just said, but turned the subject, as they walked together in the direction of the Stuyvesant Docks.
"Did you have any trouble making a landing, Dick?" he asked.
"There was a big freight boat alongside the docks and she blanketed us against the wind. If it hadn't been for the freighter, Carl and I might have had more than we could attend to. We just grazed the steamer's stacks, ducked under the dock roof, and rounded to as neat as you please. We were lucky rather than skillful, you see, for it would have been an easy matter to smash the Hawk into smithereens."
The boys continued on along the levee, and on every hand the queer craft that had dropped out of the sky was the topic of conversation. Not many people were allowed on the dock where the Hawk was moored, but there were a few curious ones clustered around the guard rope and surveying the craft.
Carl Pretzel, however, was not in evidence.
"He's probably been delayed," suggested Dick. "We'll just hang around and wait for him."
While they were waiting, the watchman came up to them.
"It's none o' my business," said he, "and I reckon you'll think I haven't any call buttin' in, but that feller that drove away with your friend, in the express wagon, hasn't got a very good character in this town."
"Is that straight?" queried Dick.
"Straight as a plumb-line. He's as crooked as a dog's hind leg. Proctor used to run a boat on the river, but he took to drinkin' an turned 'shady,' an' now he's not much better than a loafer. I'd have told you before, only I supposed you knew what you was doin' an' that you wouldn't thank me to interfere. I heard Proctor say, though, that your friend would sure be back here by noon. Well, it's noon, an' he ain't here. That's why I'm talkin' now."