But I held my tongue, except to say—
“Sick or no sick, you’re going in a boat with me and we’ll look over Fernald’s ship.”
He didn’t say ah, yes, or no; didn’t expostulate, explain or try to clear himself. With a baleful glare in his eyes and a shadow on his heavy face he went with me in a Ford, driven by a kid who tried to break all speed records, and we got a boat a half mile away.
We met Fernald’s party on the way. Fernald transfered to my flat-bottomed dreadnaught, while Bailey went on toward shore. The boy was white and sick, the freckles standing out on his face as if one was looking at them through a stereoscope. I just asked one question—
“Did you inspect these ships from tail to nose last night?”
“Yes, sir!” yelled Bailey, his eyes like those of a madman.
Then they sought Marston’s and so did Fernald’s, only Les was calmly curious and appraising, where the overwrought youngster was half insane.
“Beat it on, Bailey, and don’t talk a word,” I told him.
I told Les what I’d found. Marston brooded in one end of the boat while the Boundville veteran, rowing us, bent to his work and asked one question after another which never got answered.
Well, exactly the same things had been done to Fernald’s ship as to mine.