“I’ll call him. I say Tom—Tom Cardiff!” he shouted up the lantern tower. “I’ll finish cleaning the lens. I’ve got other work for you. Come down!”
“Coming!” was the answer, and a little later a well built young fellow, muscular and of fine appearance, greeted the boys. The introduction was soon made, and the story of the lads told.
“Wreckers; eh?” exclaimed Tom Cardiff. “I’d just like to get hold of some of the wretches,” and he stretched out his vigorous arms.
“Well, get after ’em, then!” exclaimed the old man. “You don’t want to lose any time. Telephone for the officers.”
The wire was soon busy, and arrangements made for the secret service men to come to the lighthouse. One of the life saving squad, from a station a little farther down the coast, was also engaged.
“Now you boys had better go back to your place,” said Mr. Stanton; “and arrange to come back to-night. That’s the only time to get after these fellows. They probably have finished their work, from what you told me, and they’ll lay low until it’s dark. Then we’ll get after ’em!”