“All right. I’ll take it back gladly. Anything you want in its place?”
Back again at the yacht, the boys hugged each other with delight. Then they hauled up the sails and started for Porpoise Island. They had to tack back and forth a mile or so at a stretch to reach the cove, and the last part of the way fog threatened to close in any moment. Both boys were glad when the anchor was dropped in South Cove, on the western tip of the island. There had been no sign of life on the island as they beat down its shores and the fog was now rolling in heavily.
They had supper, listening to the lonely drone of fog signals from steamers out on the nearby sea and the faint, faint echo of Zenith signal.
“A fine night for murder!” John commented, glad of the lighted lamp and the table of good things to eat. “If it weren’t necessary, I’d say don’t go out—lie in our bunks and read! Pass the cake, old boy, I’ve a little more room left yet!”
The dishes washed and put away, they got out the bows and arrows which had been returned to the hiding place, adjusted flashlights, and dark clothes, and made ready to go ashore.
“At a time like this, I wish we had a rowboat to take us back and forth,” sighed John. “How’re we going to get ashore in these togs without getting soaked?”
It was Stan who had insisted on regular clothing and now he explained that there was a natural landing rock on the inner curve of the cove where the Staghound could be moored. Stumpy cedar trees would serve as mooring bitts and the boys could step ashore dryly and quickly.
In the fog they had some difficulty finding the spot, but they did in spite of fog and night and moored the sloop securely. Then they stepped ashore by way of the rocks and searched for the end of the path which would lead inland to the lair of the super-criminal, Nevens.
After overrunning the spot twice they found the narrow cleft through thick bushes and were soon padding softly uphill and along the ridge towards their destination. They had to move slowly, feeling their way along, for they dared not use the lights without dire need.
An hour must have passed before Stan, in the lead, pressed back a warning hand.