“Just what I say. Something—or somebody—is stirring in that thicket.”
Sam peered in the direction indicated.
“I don’t see anything,” he objected.
“I don’t—now. I did see something, though.”
Try as hard as he could, Sam made out nothing except the shadowy outlines of the thicket. The light, to be sure, was both faint and trickily deceptive; one might easily be misled by a flutter of branches in a sharp gust.
“What did it look like?” he asked.
The Shark hesitated. “Well—well, it seemed to me somebody was wriggling through the brush.”
“We can settle it quick enough,” Sam declared. He strode to the clump, and as he approached it had a suspicion that he glimpsed a flitting form vanishing in the darkness a score of yards away. But it was only a suspicion; certainly nobody was hiding in the cover he searched.
“Well, what do you think now?” he inquired.
But the Shark had a new point of interest. He had ranged down to the water’s edge, and was staring at an object floating some distance from shore.