“You bet, I may come on a run!”
He was gone a few minutes after John got into their rowboat, and he did come back running.
“I got it!” he cried triumphantly as he jumped in and helped shove off.
Mystified, John rowed away.
“Got what, Skipper? Not a hundred dollar bank note, I trust!”
“No, but something that will help stick those babies behind the bars when exhibited in court!” observed Stan gleefully.
He would say no more, and John rowed swiftly to the Staghound.
“Get the sails up, Mate,” ordered the G-man’s son as he hurried below. “We’ve got to get into motion!”
They were off Zenith Light and laying a compass course for Porpoise Island when Stan took the wheel and told John to go below, if he liked, and see what they had to add to their evidence. The lanky youth did so, and whistled. It was a rubber handle neatly removed by a jackknife, slit from the motor of the Sea Hawk’s tender, and on it silver powder had been scattered lightly by the joyful Stanley to bring out several very fine fingerprints.
“How many men left their prints, I wonder, Stan?” asked John, returning to the cockpit and closing the cabin slide to hide the extra light.