“Dick,” he said, “it’s all out! This bill was sticking on one of the posts by the pier. It was wet, so I took it off.”
Dick read—“£2 reward. Lost or stolen from her moorings, on Templeton Strand, on the 4th inst, a lugger-rigged sailing boat, named the Martha. Any one giving information leading to the recovery of the boat—or if stolen, to the conviction of the thief—will receive the above reward. Police Station, Templeton.”
Dick handed the ominous paper back with a long face.
“Here, take it. Whatever did you pull it off the post for?”
“I thought you’d like to see it,” said Heathcote, putting the despised document into his pocket.
“So I did. Thanks, Georgie. We didn’t steal the boat, did we?”
“Rather not. Not like what he did to our money.”
“No. That was downright robbery.”
“With violence,” added Heathcote.
“Of course. It was really Tom White’s fault the boat got adrift. It was so carelessly anchored.”