Stan smiled. “You didn’t figure that out all alone, did you, Sherlock Holmes?”
“All kidding aside, Stan, why would he hide the punt instead of going back and forth from the float-stage and boat-house?”
“Naturally, so that he would not be noticed. He probably followed the shore of the cove from the stage to our boat, under the branches out of sight, and then returned part way, to hide his punt.”
“Stan, by all the constellations in the deep blue sky—I’ve an idea we’re on the trail of something big, so big it frightens me stiff!”
“Me too, John, but we believe in law and order and the power of the right, and we’ll see it through somehow! Mr. Nevens may be merely an eccentric millionaire with a flair for hobbies and an inventive trend, but I’ve a hunch he’s a poseur up to something immense in crime! Look—there comes that yacht we saw from the hilltop!”
The nose of the shiny white yacht had poked into the cove and the whole boat now slid into view, riding easily towards the float-stage. Through the glasses the boys saw men about her decks in uniform, probably sailors of the ordinary sort. And the men on her glass-enclosed bridge were ordinary-appearing men of wealth. “Sea Hawk!” said Stan, reading her name plate. “So what, Skipper?” John queried.
“Used to be a notorious rum-runner, John, if I remember the newspapers and magazines rightly! John, let’s get out of this cove and stay out—while we’re alive and breathing. I’ve an idea trouble is brewing for us, and we’d better be hitting the high spots of speed right off!”
CHAPTER IV
The Mystery of Black Cove
THE G-man’s son hurried below decks with John, and they changed to their white sailor pants and white jerseys. As they did so, Stan gave a low exclamation of surprise.
“Look, John, I didn’t notice that—the man who came aboard our sloop did not take along the brass fitting from Black Cove!”