“This is the law, boys! Heave to, while we come aboard!”
“What law?” demanded Stan doubtfully, trembling a little in spite of his courage.
“Men of the F. B. I., boys! John sent us!” came the answer.
Tingling with excitement, the boys hove to and the boat drew down upon them and swung alongside. It was clear, for the starlight reflected from its surface, that the boat was not one of the familiar gray speedboats. The men stepped easily aboard the sloop, and one remained with the motorboat while she drifted away at the end of a line.
“Go ahead and anchor when you are ready, boys,” said the leader, speaking quietly.
The anchor was dropped overboard and the sails were smartly lowered. Then the boys led the men below, the leader, clean-shaven, smart appearing, with clear blue eyes and a firm mouth, the others, three in number, being all ordinary-appearing young men, yet each looking quite capable of taking care of himself in an argument. They seated themselves in the now crowded cabin upon bunks and the table, and got down to the point of the visit.
“John got us at once, after you phoned, Sandborn,” said the leader. “I’m the agent in charge of this district—Holmes is the name—and these are my men.”
“Dad works under you part of the time, doesn’t he?” queried Stan.
“That’s right. This time he’s on his own by order of the big Chief. We’re here to snap up these gangster rats when their big battle starts.”
“IT’S starting Wednesday night instead of Thursday!” Stan said, excitedly.