Five minutes elapsed, when a tall figure came into sight and walked with an elastic step to the wharf.
"Good gracious, I'm glad I returned—there is Mr. Wingate now," muttered Bob, in some excitement. "He just waited long enough for us to get safely out of the way. What in the world is he doing?"
The slim form of Nat's uncle could presently be seen, with note-book in hand, leaning over and apparently examining the motor boat in a most earnest manner.
For a moment, a wild suspicion entered Bob's head that some trickery was being planned, but he instantly dismissed it as unworthy of consideration. Whatever Mr. Wingate might be in his business actions, it could scarcely be possible that he would be led by a piece of boyish misunderstanding to help his nephew in any underhanded work.
The proceeding, however, was highly mysterious, and Bob, screening himself by the trees and bushes, watched his every move with the greatest curiosity.
Mr. Wingate made frequent entries in his note-book, now and then turning and glancing in all directions, as if fearful that his actions might be observed.
Finally his mission seemed to be accomplished. He slipped the book in his pocket and began walking rapidly in the direction of the lonely watcher.
Bob gave vent to a slight exclamation, threw himself behind a mass of underbrush and anxiously awaited the other's approach. Fortunately for the lad's peace of mind, Mr. Parsons Wingate passed quickly by, totally unaware of his presence.
"Whew! a mighty close shave," soliloquized Bob, scrambling to his feet when he felt that the course was clear. "I'll wager it was something more than curiosity that brought him here, though I'd like to know why he fears being seen."
Of course, all conjecture on the subject was useless. At the first opportunity, Bob told his fellow members about the incident and various explanations were offered.