About ten minutes later the light glittered softly through the fog upon a sail and, with a coarse exclamation of delight, Dago had Butch swing to the boat. The cursing, shouting speedboat’s crew slid alongside, and aboard, guns out and hands ready!
“What is this?” demanded a big sailor in blue at the wheel of the great forty-meter yacht. “What do you want?”
One look was sufficient to establish the fact that a mistake had been made! Mr. Sandborn wanted to laugh out loud, but couldn’t. He kept a firm mouth while a flustered Dago did some quick explaining to the bulging sailor at the wheel. From below came a stern-faced man in a robe. He had a shiny object in his right hand.
“What’s up?” demanded he, sharply.
“Looks like pirates, sir!” shot back the helmsman who had not been fooled by Dago’s stuttered apologies.
“Pirates?” demanded the owner. “Let me at them!”
At that moment, not a mile away in the wind-blown waters of the ocean, a Marconi-rigged sloop was racing through the fog on a compass course of S.E. at her best gait, taking the rollers in her stride, while her mast strained and her rigging hummed! The fog seemed clear as they neared Main Haven and soon they could make out the cottages along the shore, and then the town itself. It was starlit in that harbor as they drove in, lighting side-lights as they came.
“There’s an abandoned wharf on the shore over there,” Stan said, pointing to one side of the entrance. “We’ll tie up there and walk Gagnon round to the town. That way, we may keep our identity hid, John!”
“You’re right! Somebody’ll have to buy me more arrows when this case is over—if Gagnon tries any stunts!”