Mr. Fenton did not answer for a moment, and when he spoke his voice betrayed some embarrassment.
"Yes, Sam, I noticed it," he said. "But, really, it's about time that I got back to the hotel. It's quite a long pull, and——"
"Oh, we couldn't let you row, Mr. Fenton," interrupted Sam, quickly. "We'll tow you back."
"Of course," put in Tom, wondering at the oarsman's courage in venturing out at night in a small boat and on such dangerous waters.
As if divining his thoughts, Mr. Fenton said, "It's safe enough if one hugs the shore of Hemlock Island for some distance. That makes the way a bit longer, but really, boys, I don't feel that I ought to put you to the trouble."
"No trouble at all," asserted Sam. He stooped down and passed over the painter. Mr. Fenton thanked him quietly, and made it fast to his boat.
As there was very little wind in the passageway, it was necessary to use a pair of oars in bringing the "Speedy" about. Mr. Fenton clambered over the side, and the return trip began.
When they were well out in the lake again, the Ramblers looked curiously toward the top of the cliff, but the mysterious light had entirely vanished.
With natural delicacy, neither Sam nor Tom touched upon the recent happening, nor did Mr. Fenton himself mention it. They landed him at the hotel wharf, then set sail for Rickham House.
"Tom," remarked Sam, slowly, when they were out of hearing, "what do you make of this adventure? Doesn't it seem kind o' queer that Mr. Fenton should be near Promontory Island at this time of night?"