“Maybe Nevens has nothing to do with her, you know,” John said. “She may belong to a friend of his!”
“What’s she doing in Zenith, I wonder?”
“Murmuring fish-hooks—your guess is as good as mine!”
The yacht rounded to off the pier, let go an anchor, and appeared to be set for the night. The sun was setting now, and the boys sought out their own anchorage and lowered the new sails, keeping watchful eyes on the big yacht. At supper, Stan peered through the portholes from time to time, but nothing of particular interest was to be seen about the Sea Hawk. Her riding lights were being set, and, as darkness came on, bright lights gleamed through her rows of ports. Music from a radio drifted across the water, and sailors walked about her decks at work. Once a tender put-putted away to the wharf with two men in it. They were apparently seamen and returned a little later in the dark with a load of food, Stan having watched them through the binoculars as they entered the grocery store near the wharf and came out with bags.
“Let’s swim over to-night and see if we can hear anything worth while, John,” Stan suggested as they sat in the cockpit, listening to the music and watching the big yacht.
John thought a second or two and then nodded his agreement.
They donned bathing togs and went over-side, swimming slowly towards their destination. By the end of a few minutes Stan drew near to John and said:
“John, you get off the bow and attract some attention while I slide to the stern and listen. There’s a cockpit aft and maybe some one there may have something to say of interest.”
The boys separated, and John did the crawl past the bow. A sailor peered over and hailed him.
“Hey, side-wheeler,” yelled the seaman, “what’re you doing—swimming the Channel?”